THE    M  I 


OF    T 


1  i 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE     MIRAGE 

OF    THE    MANY 


WILLIAM  THOMAS  WALSH 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  August,  IQIO 


THE   QUINN    it    BODEN    CO.    PRESS 


Wl 


TO 

MY  PARENTS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  ALTAR  OF  IDEALS  .       .       .      ..."  I 

II.  A  CITY  OF  LIGHT 22 

III.  WHAT  HAPPENED  ELECTION  NIGHT  .       .       .  38 

IV.  THE  EVICTION  .       .       .      ...      .       .  65 

V.  A  PECULIAR  WELCOME  ......  82 

VI.    THE  MARKHAMS  COME  TO  TOWN   .       .       .  99 

VII.    AT  THE  PELION      .      .       .      .      .      ...  108 

VIII.    AN  ATTEMPT  AT  RECONCILIATION     .       .       .  131 

IX.    SEEBAR  MEETS  WITH  AN  ACQUAINTANCE      .  141 
X.    THE  DISTURBANCE  NEXT  DOOR;  THE  DINING 

ROOM  OF  THE  AJAX iS5 

XI.    THE  RED  CARD 170 

XII.    MR.   MARKHAM   GOES  TO  THE   STEEL  MILLS 

AND  DOROTHY  FINDS  EMPLOYMENT     .       .  179 

XIII.  THE  SHOP  DIVIDED  AGAINST  ITSELF  .       .       .  195 

XIV.  THE  DOUBTFUL  GIFT    .      .       .             .       .  209 
XV.    MRS.  TWESDEM  OFFERS  INFORMATION     .       .  219 

XVI.  A  TERRIBLE  THING  HAPPENS     .      .      .      .230 

XVII.  DOUBT        .       .       .       ....      .       .       .244 

XVIII.  IN  THE  LION'S  HOUSE 257 

XIX.  THE  STAMPEDE  IN  THE  NEW  AUDITORIUM      .     269 

XX.  WHAT  BEFELL  IN  THE  STUDIO  .       .       .       .285 

XXI.  A  NEW  DAY  .  3iS 


1546359 


THE    MIRAGE   OF    THE   MANY 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  ALTAR  OF  IDEALS 


"  AND  furthermore,"  added  Faverall  Mark- 
ham,  "  you  are  scattering  your  talents  to 
the  four  winds  like  so  much  chaff." 

The  steel  manufacturer  half-rose  from  his 
chair  as  he  spoke,  shoving  the  ash-tray  angrily 
across  the  library  table,  where  it  stopped  on  the 
very  edge. 

"  I  am  sorry  my  political  opinions  are  so  dis 
tasteful  to  you,"  answered  Seebar;  "  I  can  re 
member  when  you  seemed  to  find  them  highly 
amusing." 

The  tone  was  almost  bitter. 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  a  difference  now.  When  a 
bear  is  a  whelp  it  is  a  plaything  —  its  antics  are  to 
be  laughed  at;  when  it  is  grown  it  is  dangerous, 


2  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

and  no  longer  to  be  humored.  And  I  tell  you, 
young  man  " — the  words  were  edged  like  a  steel 
tool — "  I  wouldn't  have  humored  you,  even  as  a 
cub,  had  I  not  known  your  father." 

"And  Dorothy?" 

"  She  thinks  as  I  do." 

"  So  that  is  why  she  hasn't  answered  my  let 
ters!" 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Markham  uncompromis 
ingly.  "  Remember,  young  man,"  he  added, 
"  you  are  not  the  only  one  who  can  change." 

"  It  seems  not,"  came  the  retort. 

Suddenly  the  stern,  set  lines  in  Markham's  face 
relaxed.  He  came  half-way  around  the  huge 
mahogany  table.  Instinctively  the  other  rose  to 
meet  him. 

"  Mr.  Seebar,  Alfred,  my  boy,"  he  said;  "  why 
can't  you  see  the  folly  of  all  this?  It  means 
absolute  ruin  to  every  business  man,  and,  ulti 
mately,  suffering  for  every  misguided  wretch  that 
casts  his  ballot  for  your  party ;  yes,  and  for  every 
one  else,  too,  for  that  matter.  If  the  Socialists 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  3 

win  at  the  polls,  what  will  be  the  outcome  ?  Ruin 
and  chaos.  And  you  will  find  that  those  who  are 
your  most  enthusiastic  adherents  now  will  be  the 
first  to  curse  you  then.  On  the  other  hand, 
should  the  Socialists  fail  to  carry  the  election, 
you  are  crushed — destined  to  an  obscure  life  for 
ever.  Oh,  but  you  were  mad, — mad  to  make  that 
fire-brand  speech;  madder  still  to  accept  that 
nomination  of  overseer  for  Chicago."  The  old 
manufacturer  banged  his  clenched  fist  on  the 
table.  "  But  it  isn't  too  late  even  now.  Come, 
do  the  sane  thing,  the  right  thing,  and  withdraw 
your  nomination.  I  can't  bear  to  think  the  son 
of  my  old  friend  Seebar  a  leader  of  the  rabble." 

From  above,  the  single,  shaded  lamp  threw  a 
disk  of  light  upon  the  floor,  and  both  were  stand 
ing  within  its  circle.  Markham  had  placed  his 
hand  pleadingly  on  Seebar's  arm.  It  was  a 
strong  face  that  Seebar  looked  into, — not  the 
"  reckless,  passion-writ  face  of  the  Fourth  Gen 
eration,"  to  quote  the  Socialistic  literature  of  the 
time,  but  the  intelligent,  aggressive  countenance 


4  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

of  a  man  who  had  planned  and  executed  big 
things.  It  was  of  a  mold  that  gave  the  lie  to  the 
carelessly  coined,  carelessly  spoken  saying  of  the 
day,  that  luxury  and  ease  had  undermined  the 
manhood  of  the  rich. 

And  so  Seebar,  himself  square- jawed,  clean 
cut,  as  erect  and  vigorous,  and  as  pleasing  to  look 
upon,  as  a  sturdy  young  sapling,  could  not  help 
but  admit  to  himself,  as  he  noted  the  breadth  of 
forehead  beneath  the  locks  of  gray,  and  the  large, 
wide-set  eyes.  The  men  who  controlled  the  na 
tion's  wealth  were  giants  in  their  day  too,  even 
as  their  forefathers  had  been  in  the  early  days  of 
the  twentieth  century. 

Seebar  had  no  intention  of  yielding,  however, 
as  he  answered  coolly  and  dispassionately : 

"  A  rabble  they  may  be,  sir.  The  more  reason 
why  they  need  sincere  leaders.  We're  going  to 
place  mankind  on  a  higher  level  in  this  year  of 
1952.  It's  a  mere  matter  of  justice.  That's  what 
Socialism  stands  for.  It's  been  a  platitude  for 
centuries  that  Capital  is  created  by  Labor  and 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  5 

therefore  belongs  to  Labor.  You  reproached  me 
a  moment  ago  with  changing  my  opinions.  It  is 
true,  a  couple  of  years  ago  I  looked  at  these 
things  in  a  merely  speculative,  not  in  a  practical, 
light.  Since  then  I  have  seen  things  differently 
— seen  things  as  they  really  are,  and  now  I  know 
that,  whatever  may  be  my  personal  interest  or 
feeling,  it  is  only  right  that  I  hold  the  position  I 
have  taken." 

"  A  bit  of  the  demagogue  right  here  in  our 
library;  eh,  Alfred?" 

The  open  sneer  brought  a  flush  to  the  young 
politician's  cheek.  He  bit  his  lips  in  a  vexed 
way  as  if  suppressing  an  angry  reply. 

"  I  see  you  refuse  to  understand  me,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  It's  too  late,  anyway,  to  argue  this 
question,"  he  added  resignedly.  "  But  if  I  had 
known  you  would  feel  as  strongly  as  this,  I 
believe  I  should  not  have  come  here  to-night. 
A  little  over  a  month  ago,  when  I  was  here  last, 
you  scouted  all  possibility  of  the  Socialists' 
carrying  the  election.  That  was  before  the  Na- 


6  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

tional  Convention  had  been  held  at  the  Stadium. 
Now,  with  the  election  but  two  months  away,  you 
know  what  the  moneyed  men  have  been  doing 
in  La  Salle  Street.  You  know  what  they  are 
doing  there  to-night.  They  are  winding  up  their 
business  affairs.  Some  of  them  are  even  now 
making  their  last  shipments  of  gold  out  of  the 
country,  preparatory  to  following,  themselves. 

"  Now  I  know,  of  course,  what  effect  this 
campaign  has  had  upon  business.  There  is  no 
bottom  to  prices.  Farm-lands,  city  real  estate, 
railroad  stocks — all  are  selling  for  a  song — and 
always  in  gold  and  silver.  And  I  understand, 
Mr.  Markham,  you  have  been  plunging,  using  all 
available  cash  to  control  certain  industries,  so 
that  if  the  Individualists  should  weather  the 
storm  you  would  be,  perhaps,  the  most  powerful 
financier  in  the  country.  But  the  Individualists 
won't  weather  the  storm.  And  at  your  age  and 
with  your  beliefs,  frankly,  I  think  the  new  regime 
will  be,  for  you,  intolerable. 

"  I  haven't   seen   you   since   the   nomination, 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  7 

partly  because  I  haven't  had  time  in  this  campaign, 
and  for  another  reason  also.  But  to-night  I 
thought  I  must  come  here  and  urge  you  to  con 
sider  your  daughter's  welfare  as  well  as  your 
own.  If  you  can  still  secure  enough  ready  money 
to  support  yourself  abroad,  don't  throw  it  away 
in  sheer  wild-cat  speculation,  for  that's  what  the 
buying  of  all  securities  now  means."  The  young 
man  broke  off  abruptly,  but  the  older  man  was 
quick  to  answer. 

"  And  after  affiliating  yourself  with  this  band 
of  thieves,  this  rabble  of  brigands,  you  have  the 
audacity  to  come  here  and  advise  me  what  to 
do?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Seebar,  "  I  have."  His 
features  had  taken  on  an  expression  of  resolution 
that  unmistakably  showed  it  was  habitual.  Quite 
plainly  he  was  holding  his  temper  in  leash,  for  his 
eyes  were  flashing  dangerously. 

With  anger  and  irritation  in  every  stride,  Mr. 
Markham  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  and  touched  a  button  on 


8  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  wall,  flooding  the  room  with  light.  Then  he 
flung  himself  once  more  into  the  depths  of  his 
chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  commanded  imperatively, 
pointing  to  Seebar's  chair.  He  raised  the  lid  of 
a  box  that  stood  on  the  table,  and  tendered  the 
younger  man  a  cigar.  "  We  must  come  to  an 
understanding  on  this  miserable  affair,  if  pos 
sible,  though  it  takes  all  night,"  he  said  decisively. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Seebar.  The  question  of 
Dorothy  was  included  in  the  father's  phrase. 

"  Now,"  went  on  Mr.  Markham,  angrily  blow 
ing  little  palpitating  whiffs  of  smoke  between 
his  words;  "  I'll  concede  every  statement  you've 
made  regarding  the  political  situation,  and  my 
own  position,  as  well.  A  month  ago  I  believed 
we  could  swing  the  election  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  Individualists — your  party  calls  them 
Capitalists — were  divided.  Then,  as  you  well 
know,  the  Republican  and  Democratic  leaders, 
becoming  alarmed,  united  on  one  man.  That 
fact  has  shaken  my  confidence — shaken  it  beyond 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  9 

repair.  Like  every  one  else,  I  have  counted  on 
the  extraordinary  solidarity  of  the  country  vote. 
Of  course  the  population  of  the  cities  is  greater 
than  that  of  the  rural  districts, — has  been  greater 
in  fact,  since  1940 — but  then  while  nearly  every 
farmer  is  an  Anti-Socialist,  the  converse — that 
nearly  every  city  dweller  is  an  Anti-Individualist, 
is  by  no  means  the  fact.  With  the  rural  vote 
supported  by  a  portion  of  the  city  vote,  I  did 
think  we  could  squeeze  through,  for  it  was  gen 
erally  conceded  that  the  Democratic  nominee 
would  scarcely  get  enough  votes  to  lessen  ma 
terially  the  Republican  plurality.  Then  came  the 
alarm.  The  Individualists  felt  that  they  could 
not  even  spare  these  few  votes.  You  doubtless 
know  better  than  I  do  the  details  of  how  the 
leaders  of  the  two  parties  got  together  and  united 
their  followers  under  the  name  of  the  Individ 
ualist  party.  Until  then,  I  had  confidence,  and 
I  plunged  heavily,  as  you  were  informed,  on  that 
expectation.  God  only  knows  what  is  to  become 
of  my  daughter  when  the  '  Great  Change,'  as  you 


io          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

people  are  fond  of  calling  it,  really  does  come. 
And  all  of  us  realize  that  a  grand  crash  is  cer 
tainly  coming.  The  Constitution  has  been  re 
peatedly  tampered  with  in  the  last  two  years — so 
that  practically  anything  can  be  done  from  day 
to  day  in  the  way  of  legislation.  We  Individual 
ists,  as  you  well  know,  fought,  and  fought  hard, 
the  initiative  and  referendum,  first  as  a  State, 
then  as  a  Federal,  act.  Now  the  Constitution  is 
as  flexible  as  a  municipal  ordinance.  At  this 
election  in  November,  by  popular  vote  you 
simultaneously  alter  the  Constitution  and  elect 
your  officers  in  accordance  with  the  change. 

"  I  have  tied  up  every  dollar  I  could  lay  hands 
on,  so  you  see  I  could  not  leave  the  country  even 
if  I  wished.  I  am  telling  you  exactly  how  I'm 
situated,  not  because  I  think  you  can  help  me,  but 
just  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  mischief  you  have 
helped  create." 

Their  eyes  met,  but  Seebar  did  not  flinch.      : 
'  You   are   a   young   man   of   most   unusual 
ability,"  continued  Mr.  Markham;  "you  would 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  11 

have  made  a  mark  in  statesmanship  had  you  not 
deserted  your  own  party.  In  the  election  of  1948 
the  Socialists  showed  an  alarming  strength. 
Now  in  1952,  when  they  seem  destined  to  sweep 
everything  before  them,  many  of  the  natural 
supporters  of  the  present  system,  such  as  you, 
strengthen  the  opposition  enormously  by  going 
over  into  their  ranks  as  candidates  for  high 
political  office.  Why,  if  you  could  have  put  half 
the  fire  into  a  speech  in  support  of  Individualism 
that  you  put  into  that  famous  speech  in  the 
Convention,  which  brought  you  your  nomination, 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  votes  would  now 
be  saved  to  us.  When  men  of  talent,  born  into 
our  class,  our  natural  defenders,  desert  us,  where 
are  we  to  turn?  " 

He  seemed  for  an  instant  to  hesitate,  then 
looked  up  sharply. 

"  Considering  all  these  things,  Alfred,  I  can 
not  see  that  you  have  any  right,  unless  you  are 
willing  to  withdraw  your  candidacy,  to  expect  to 
marry  into  my  family." 


12          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Mr.  Markham  paused;  his  abrupt  conclusion 
was  in  the  nature  of  a  bomb,  but  the  explosion 
was  not  unexpected. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  me  thus  to  dishonor  my 
self  and  my  love  for  your  daughter?"  asked 
Seebar. 

He  was  sitting  upright,  his  strong  hands 
grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair  till  the  veins 
swelled,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  face  surmounted 
by  an  angry  flush.  Suddenly  his  words  came 
in  a  flood : 

"  You  wouldn't  have  Dorothy  marry  a  cur, — 
a  whining,  whimpering  coward  who  had  sold  his 
honor  just  for  her  love,  would  you?  You  speak 
as  if  I  could  change  principles  and  the  enthusiasm 
for  them  just  as  easily  as  I  might  put  on  or  off  a 
suit  of  clothes.  What  sort  of  a  man  do  you 
suppose  I  am,  anyway  ?  " 

Both  men  again  rose.  Anger  was  blazing  in 
Seebar's  eyes,  but  Markham  was  cold. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  quit  that  mob  of  in 
sane  revolutionists,"  said  the  manufacturer,  "  if 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  13 

I  thought  you  were  thoroughly  in  earnest.  You 
may  think  you  are,  but  you  are  not.  You  have 
taken  up  Socialism  because  its  high-sounding 
philosophy  appealed  to  you.  If  you  hadn't  made 
that  incendiary  speech  in  the  Convention  you 
would  have  cooled  down  by  this  time.  I  ask 
you  to  be  reasonable;  I  ask  you  not  to  do  that 
for  which  hereafter  you  will  have  the  keenest 
regret,  and  you  become  red  with  rage.  I  do 
not  ask  that  you  even  support  the  Individualists. 
But  what  I  do  ask  is  that  you  withdraw  your 
candidacy.  Such  a  course  would  show  that  you 
really  do  love  my  daughter,  and,  moreover,  that 
you  have  some  respect  for  my  opinions  and  feel 
ings." 

"  But,  Mr.  Markham,  you  are  asking  me  to 
make  a  sacrifice  that  no  man  worthy  of  the  name 
would  make." 

"  In  that  event  you  know  the  alternative." 
"  Oh,  father,  is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  " 
In  the  door-way,  the  lights  in  the  hall  shining 
through  the  loose  strands  of  her  hair  in  a  soft 


14          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

golden  glow,  stood  Dorothy  Markham.  One 
arm,  the  loose  wide  sleeve  of  which  had  slipped 
back,  was  raised  above  her  head,  and  rested 
against  the  casing.  She  was  dressed  in  some 
soft,  reddish  stuff  that  accentuated  the  lines  of 
her  figure.  As  she  stood  thus,  unconscious  of 
the  free,  graceful  attitude  she  had  assumed,  her 
eyes  were  alive  with  a  look  of  anxiety.  As  the 
two  men  turned  toward  her,  she  hurried  across 
the  room  to  her  father,  and  threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"  Father,  don't  be  so  hard,"  she  pleaded. 

"  Dorothy,  child,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Here  is 
a  man  who  is  striking  relentlessly  at  the  whole 
social  fabric.  He  desires  to  bring  down  every 
thing  in  one  grand  crash.  His  party  is  crying 
out  for  the  abolition  of  Capital,  personal  liberty, 
everything,  in  fact,  that  we  prize  as  civilization. 
And  worst  of  all  he  doesn't  really  believe  in  the 
accursed  stuff  himself.  He  took  it  up  as  a  whim; 
he  thinks  he  is  sincere,  but  he  is  not.  When  a 
man  acts  of  set  purpose  as  a  fanatic,  do  you 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  15 

think  for  a  moment  I  can  make  him  welcome  in 
this  house  ?  " 

Seebar  had  stepped  to  the  window  and  was 
looking  out  into  the  night.  Over  Lake  Michigan 
a  waning  moon  was  tossing  through  rough 
clouds.  A  breeze  was  blowing  from  the  east, 
and  the  waters  of  the  lake  could  be  heard  boom 
ing  against  the  break-water.  Through  the  open 
window  the  summer  air  sifted,  just  pleasantly 
warm. 

There  was  a  battle  going  on  in  Seebar's  soul, 
— a  battle  which  he  hardly  dared  to  acknowledge 
to  himself.  Now  for  the  first  time  did  he  begin 
to  realize  just  how  much  his  affiliation  with  the 
Socialist  party  was  going  to  cost  him.  For  social 
position  he  cared  nothing;  and  he  was  likewise 
willing  to  forego  all  opportunities  to  acquire 
wealth.  But  when  loyalty  to  his  political  prin 
ciples  meant,  as  he  could  plainly  see  now,  the 
ultimate  sacrifice  of  love,  the  terrible  gulf  that 
suddenly  opened  at  his  feet  made  him  draw  back 
aghast.  He  had  not  anticipated  this.  In  the 


16          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

past  few  months  he  had  thrown  himself  into  the 
game  with  the  fiery  zeal  of  an  idealist.  So  en 
grossed  had  he  been  that  for  several  weeks  past 
he  had  seen  nothing  of  his  friends,  the  Mark- 
hams. 

Now,  on  this  night,  a  brief  respite  had  come, 
and  he  had  run  out  to  Millionaires'  Row  along 
the  Sheridan  Drive.  Then  Mr.  Markham's 
wrath  had  burst  upon  him  for  his  active  part 
in  the  campaign.  The  steel  manufacturer  had 
very  plainly  indicated  how  his  course  had  all  but 
destroyed  not  only  his  own,  but  his  daughter's 
regard. 

It  was  a  terrible  temptation,  and  while  he 
wrestled  with  it,  he  found  his  struggle  doubly 
hard,  for  suddenly  he  found  Dorothy  at  his  side, 
looking  up  at  him  with  pleading  eyes. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  it  was  so  serious,"  she  said. 
"  Alfred,  won't  you  do  this  to  please  me  ?  " 

The  eyes  looked  very  large  and  blue  and 
earnest,  fringed  with  heavy  dark  lashes. 

"  It  isn't  as  if  you  really  believed  in  all  this, 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  17 

is  it,  dear?"  she  went  on.  "  It's  just  your  am 
bition — forgive  me  for  saying  so — but  isn't  it? 
If  you  really  love  me — you  would — you  would 
be  willing  to  give  up  this — this  Socialism, 
wouldn't  you?" 

She  asked  her  question  with  almost  the  simple 
confidence  of  a  child.  She  put  it  as  if  it  would 
be  a  denial  of  his  love  to  refuse.  And  as  he 
looked  into  her  eyes,  he  was  looking  beyond, 
into  a  future  that  was  gloomy  and  sunless.  If 
only  she  could  realize  what  it  all  meant ! 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  asking,  child," 
he  answered.  "  I  would  cut  off  my  right  hand  if 
it  would  avail  you  anything,  but  I  can't  do  this 
thing:  I  simply  can't  betray  myself." 

"  Not  for  me  ?  "  she  whispered  softly. 

The  expression  in  his  eyes  became  a  look  of 
positive  anguish. 

Dorothy  turned  to  her  father. 

"  Perhaps "  she  began,  hesitatingly. 

Comprehendingly  he  moved  toward  the  door. 
On  the  threshold  he  paused,  and  seemed  about 


1 8          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

to  say  something  more;  then,  apparently  recon 
sidering,  he  slowly  passed  out  into  the  hall. 

"  Alfred,"  said  Dorothy,  placing  a  small  hand 
on  each  of  his  broad  shoulders,  "  do  you  re 
member  that  night  in  the  springtime,  out  there 
under  the  trees,  when  you  said  you  loved  me?  " 

Her  eyes  were  looking  straight  up  into  his, — 
serious  and  earnest  and  girlish. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  very  low.  The  tension 
of  features  had  relaxed,  but  the  habitual  firmness 
of  the  mouth  was  still  there. 

"  Well,  why  have  you  changed  ?  What  have 
I  done  to  make  you  regret  that  night?" 

"  Dorothy !  I  haven't  changed !  Why  do  you 
say  that?" 

"  Because,"  she  replied,  with  a  touch  of  the 
didactic,  "  a  man,  if  he  really  loves  a  woman, 
does  what  she  asks  of  him  without  question. 
You  said  a  moment  ago  that  you  could  not  be 
tray  yourself.  That's  just  a  phrase — out  of  a 
book.  If  you  really  love  me  you  will  sacrifice 
anything,  everything  for  me.  I  would  for  you. 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  19 

But  I'm  not  asking  you  to  betray  yourself.  It's 
neither  duty  nor  honor  that  binds  you  to  these 
Socialists.  It's  vanity.  You  don't  recognize  it 
as  such,  but  it  is.  It  isn't  because  the  Socialists 
are  going  to  make  us  poor  that  I  want  you  to 
give  this  up,  but  because  I  want  to  feel  that  you 
love  me.  Don't  you,  can't  you  see  ?  " 

He  was  silent. 

"Why  don't  you  answer?" 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  do  see,  dear,"  he  replied 
at  last  with  slow  reluctance. 

Her  hand  slipped  from  his  shoulder. 

"  It  wasn't  always  so  hard  for  you  to  under 
stand." 

She  paused  as  if  awaiting  an  answer.  As 
none  came  she  continued,  speaking  almost  as  if 
to  herself :  "  Then  perhaps  it  is  best  to  do  as  fa 
ther  says." 

She  took  a  step  toward  the  door.  Seebar 
wheeled  about,  his  face  as  white  as  paper. 

"  Don't,  don't  go,"  he  implored,  his  voice 
trembling,  "  give  me  a  moment,  only  a  moment." 


20          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

It  was  very  quiet  there  in  the  library.  Some 
where  about  the  house  a  door  closed  with  a 
far-away  distant  sound;  the  clock  ticked  in  slow, 
methodical  rhythm;  a  stray  gust  of  the  lake 
breeze  whistled  low,  as  it  was  sucked  into  a 
corner  of  the  building,  then  whisked  against  the 
screen  in  the  window,  with  a  soft,  brushing 
sound,  and  finally  sighed  itself  into  nothingness 
in  the  distance. 

Seebar  broke  the  silence  by  blurting  out,  "If 
you  had  ambitions,  too,  Dorothy,  you  would 
understand." 

"Ambitions!  If  I — had  ambitions!  Alfred,  I 
am  not  a  child.  My  years  of  art  study  were  not 
a  pastime, — my  professional  work  was  not 
exactly  the  fad  of  a  rich  man's  daughter.  A 
woman's  ambitions  are  mostly  toys,  I  know,  to 
be  thrown  away  at  marriage.  But  yes,  I,  too, 
would  have  thrown  them  away  gladly  for  the 
love  of  a  man — a  man  such  as  I  thought  you  to 
be,  Alfred." 

Her  voice  caught. 


The  Altar  of  Ideals  21 

Seebar  tossed  his  arms  in  a  despairing  gesture. 
"  Don't  mind  my  words,  Dorothy,  I  scarcely 
know  what  I  am  saying.  You  should  know  that 
I  would  not  hurt  you  intentionally  for  worlds." 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  at 
tempted  to  draw  her  toward  him.  She  was  sob 
bing  now. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  exclaimed,  pushing  him  away. 

"Dorothy,  dear,  won't  you  please  listen?" 

"  Not  to-night,  not  to-night,  please,  please 
don't.  Perhaps  to-morrow,  perhaps  next  week, 
but  not  now,  oh,  not  now !  " 

Faverall  Markham  re-entered  the  room  pres 
ently.  He  found  Dorothy  seated  on  the  sofa, 
with  averted  face,  while  Seebar  was  standing 
at  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  gloom. 

The  young  man  turned  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
Markham.  "  I — I  think  I'll  bid  you  good-night," 
he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 
A  CITY  OF  LIGHT 

TT  was  the  third  day  of  November — election 
day.  Seebar  had  taken  a  hurried  supper  at  a 
nearby  cafe  and  then  had  quickly  returned  to  his 
offices  in  the  Chamber  of  Trade  Building.  There 
was  little  time  for  such  mere  trifles  as  bodily 
nourishment;  the  returns  of  the  election  were 
coming  in. 

Those  several  weeks  following  the  night  of  his 
call  at  the  Markhams'  had  been  a  period  of 
fatiguing  labor.  His  voice  had  been  in  every  de 
liberative  council,  his  determination,  his  energy, 
his  enthusiasm  had  been  felt  in  the  arrangement 
of  the  many  details  of  the  campaign.  Speeches, 
too,  he  had  made  by  the  score,  and  he  was  re 
garded  as  a  tower  of  strength  by  people  and  party 
leaders  alike. 

Only  a  few  months  back  an  obscure  lawyer,  his 

22 


A  City  of  Light  23 

brilliant,  passionate  speech  in  the  Socialist  Na 
tional  Convention  had  carried  the  delegates  off 
their  feet.  They  had  instantly  recognized  in  him 
a  man  for  their  purpose — a  man  young,  fiery, 
magnetic,  filled  with  the  enthusiasm  of  high  ideals, 
steeped  in  the  principles  of  Socialism,  able  to 
present  those  principles  with  convincing,  com 
pelling  force.  Moreover,  he  was  a  fighter,  bold 
and  dauntless;  no  wonder  he  was  regarded  as  a 
priceless  acquisition  to  the  cause. 

Never  in  all  these  weeks  had  his  faith  wavered, 
no,  not  for  a  single  instant.  His  way  had  been 
as  clear  and  certain,  as  sure,  as  a  white,  hard 
road  gleaming  in  sunlight. 

Up  to  the  present,  strangely  enough,  the  break 
ing  off  of  his  relations  with  Dorothy  Markham 
had  been  scarcely  felt  by  him,  after  the  first  keen 
pain  of  that  night.  His  interests  had. been  too 
single,  too  concentrated  in  the  cause  he  cham 
pioned.  His  minutes,  his  very  seconds  had  been 
too  fully  occupied  for  him  to  have  leisure  at 
his  disposal  to  reflect  upon  and  realize  in  any 


24          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

degree  the  consequences  of  his  estrangement 
from  her. 

Besides,  he  had  hopes  in  abundance, — rich, 
roseate  hopes.  The  dawn,  the  magnificent  dawn, 
such  as  never  yet  had  been  seen  by  man,  but  only 
dreamed  of,  was  at  hand.  With  the  inauguration 
of  the  new  conditions,  he  felt  that  the  men  of 
Markham's  stamp,  after  the  first  anger  and 
despair  had  passed,  would  be  inevitably  recon 
ciled.  And  as  for  Dorothy,  he  felt  that  with  the 
readjustment  of  society,  gradually  her  love  for 
him  would  return.  He  had  been  sure  of  that. 

He  picked  up  a  letter  from  his  desk.  It  had 
remained  unopened  since  the  afternoon  mail.  He 
knew  from  the  postmark  that  it  was  from  his 
uncle,  Richard  Tompkins,  who  lived  on  a  small 
farm  some  thirty  miles  beyond  the  city's  limits. 

MY  DEAR  ALFRED  : — 

I  have  not  concerned  myself  as  much  about  this 
Socialism  as  perhaps  I  should  have  done,  but  it 
has  indeed  given  me  a  feeling  of  pride  that  you 
should  have  been  chosen  as  one  of  the  big  leaders. 

It   never   occurred   to   me,   however,   till   quite 


A  City  of  Light  25 

recently  what  might  be  the  result  should  your  party 
be  victorious.  All  my  neighbors  declare  that  things 
will  not  be  well  for  us  farmers.  They  say  that 
there  will  be  a  new  apportionment  of  land ;  that  my 
little  farm  will  become  still  smaller,  or  else  that  it 
will  be  absorbed  with  others  and  managed  on  the 
basis  of  the  great  corporate  system  of  commerce  and 
manufacturing.  In  either  event,  the  result  does  not 
appear  promising,  for  will  not  the  new  arrangement 
seriously  interfere  with  my  income,  small  as  it  is 
now? 

I  am,  as  you  know,  in  my  sixty-fifth  year ;  I  have 
taken  little  interest  for  some  time  in  politics,  being 
a  quiet  and  domestic  sort  of  man.  These  things 
coming  at  my  time  of  life  worry  me  a  bit.  How 
ever,  I  trust  that  all  will  be  well.  But  you  know 
that  the  population  of  the  cities,  at  least  I  am  told 
so,  can  outvote  that  of  the  country,  and  perhaps 
the  interests  here  in  the  country  differ  from  those 
of  you  people  in  the  cities. 

I  am  writing  this  not  to  trouble  you,  but  to 
relieve  my  own  conscience.  Much  as  I  hate  to  do 
it  for  your  sake,  I  feel  that  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
vote  the  way  my  neighbors  will  to-morrow,  that  is, 
of  course,  for  the  Individualists. 

Now,  forgive  me  for  the  timid  fears  of  an  old 
man.  I  feel  that  I  must  do  my  duty  by  my  neigh 
bors,  but  still  wish  that  you  may  win. 


26          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

I  hope  that  you  may  be  able  to  visit  us  for  a  few 
hours,  at  least,  after  the  election. 

Well,  good-by,  now,  my  boy.  With  best  wishes 
and  luck,  Your  loving  Uncle, 

RICHARD  TOMPKINS. 

PARKHURST,  ILL.,  Nov.  2nd.  1952. 

Martha  sends  her  love.  She  also  tells  me  to  say 
that  she  will  send  some  more  of  her  mince  pies 
soon,  the  kind  you  used  to  like  so  well. 

A  pang  of  regret,  almost  of  accusation,  gripped 
Seebar  for  the  moment.  Good,  kind  old  Uncle 
Dick !  He  had  been  a  father,  more  than  a  father 
to  him.  He  had  been  father  and  uncle  and 
friend,  all  in  one.  In  days  gone  by  Uncle  Dick 
had  money — not  a  great  deal,  still  a  surplus  over 
and  above  his  wants.  It  was  due  to  him  solely 
that  Seebar  had  been  able  to  go  through  college. 
Seebar's  memory  went  back  to  that  night  his 
father  had  come  home  from  the  stock  exchange, 
a  broken  man, — the  fortune  of  a  life-time's  labor 
gone  almost  in  a  flash. 

Brain  fever  had  followed,  and  in  his  delirium 
the  poor  harried  financier  had  fought  over  again 


A  City  of  Light  27 

the  terrible  agonizing  last  few  days  he  had  gone 
through  before  the  actual  crash  came.  And  he 
had  raved,  too,  about  Alfred's  mother,  dead  then 
some  years. 

When  the  end  came,  Uncle  Dick  was  at  the 
boy's  side  to  comfort  him.  Yes,  when  he  thought 
it  all  over,  Uncle  Dick  had  done  a  vast  deal 
for  him. 

What  if — and  the  thin  wedge  of  doubt  found 
its  opening — what  if  the  great  Socialist  program 
should  not  work  out  successfully,  and  he  should 
thus  have  helped  to  bring  nothing  but  ruin  as  a 
reward  for  all  his  uncle's  kindness  ? 

Somehow,  this  apparently  slight  incident  of 
the  letter  singularly  disturbed  him.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  reaction  after  days  and  weeks  of  nervous 
strenuousness  and  excitement,  or  perhaps  it  was 
that  the  real  import  of  the  Great  Change  to 
a  multitude  of  people  was  for  the  first  time 
really  driven  home  to  him. 

When  worried  or  perplexed,  Seebar  was  wont 
to  ascend  to  the  tower  of  the  building,  ninety- 


28          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

three  stories  above  the  street,  and  lean  upon  the 
railing  of  the  circular  balcony,  with  the  air  beat 
ing  about  his  head,  clarifying  his  thoughts.  To 
night  he  went  up  to  this  tower. 

Chicago,  the  hugest  city  in  the  world, 
stretched,  a  vast  blur  of  light,  to  an  incredibly 
distant  horizon — north,  west,  south — a  red  en 
compassing  halo,  extending  to  the  farthest 
reaches  of  vision.  Lights !  lights !  lights !  Where 
did  they  begin?  Where  did  they  cease?  They 
were  flung  out  into  space,  seemingly  interminably, 
like  one  all-embracing  milky  way.  Even  where 
Seebar  stood,  a  wan  radiance,  more  illuminating 
than  the  star-light,  was  diffused.  The  calm 
lights  of  the  sky  paled  in  comparison  with  the 
elusive  but  insistent  glow  that  pressed  upward 
from  the  earth. 

As  his  glance  fell  straight  downward,  Seebar 
saw,  far,  far  below,  bands  of  white  and  green 
lights,  in  segments,  pass  in  rapid  succession. 
These  he  knew  to  be  the  trains  of  the  mono-rail 
way,  running  on  an  elevated  structure  high 


A  City  of  Light  29 

above  the  level  of  the  streets.  As  he  watched, 
train  after  train  swung  round  a  double  curve,  the 
red  and  green  lights  of  each,  for  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  pricking  out  a  great  letter  S,  which, 
even  as  it  formed,  dissolved  as  the  train  cleared 
the  curve. 

Overhead,  occasionally,  a  freight-laden  air 
ship,  distinguishable  by  its  gleaming  yellow  side- 
lamps,  passed  swiftly,  its  searchlight  cutting  a 
path  ahead  through  the  darkness;  sometimes 
throwing  an  oblique  shaft  downward  upon  the 
city. 

Westward,  three  squares  away,  rose  a  row  of 
needle-like  structures,  every  window  of  each  a 
rectangle  of  light.  As  he  shifted  his  eyes  to  a 
similar  row  to  the  south,  the  buildings,  a  mass  of 
multiplied  lights,  seemed,  with  the  turning  of 
the  head,  to  rush  skyward.  To  the  east,  over  a 
vast  wall  of  sky-scrapers,  a  reddish  glow  lay, 
gradually  dissolving  into  the  whiter  light  around. 
These  were  the  lights  along  the  Lake  Front  and 
Michigan  Avenue, — the  latter  the  great  theatre 


30          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

and  restaurant  district  of  Chicago.  Far  out, 
over  the  waters  of  Lake  Michigan  hung  this 
glow;  then  still  farther  away,  beyond,  lay  that 
blackest  of  black  walls, — always,  even  on  the 
fairest  of  nights,  suggestive  of  a  vast  bank  of 
storm-bearing  mist,  just  emerging  above  the 
horizon,  where  sky  and  water  met, — the  one 
really  dark  space  in  the  vast  reaches  of  sky  and 
city  and  water. 

Nightly  the  lights  came  on  in  myriads  of  vast 
winks,  as  the  various  circuits  were  brought  into 
play,  and  merged  into  one  irresistible  torrent  of 
illumination.  In  some  sections  of  the  metropolis 
shades  had  to  be  drawn  as  tightly  as  if  the  sun 
were  in  the  zenith.  Light  was  omnipresent,  and 
the  ways  of  nature  were  beginning  gradually  to 
change.  Night  work,  where  it  did  not  involve 
sales  directly  to  people,  was  becoming  more  and 
more  prevalent.  Some  business  men  divided  the 
day  into  periods,  working  a  brief  time  in  the 
morning,  taking  recreation  in  the  afternoon,  and 
returning  to  their  offices  again  at  night. 


A  City  of  Light  31 

Light  seemed  to  be  the  emblem,  the  symbol,  of 
man's  conquest  over  nature.  His  architectural 
structures  were  formed  in  outline  of  it  by  night; 
his  conquest  of  speed  was  indicated  by  light, — 
green  and  red, — on  the  swiftly  hurrying  mono- 
railways,  bearing  their  multitudes  hither  and 
thither  at  the  easy  speed  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  an  hour,  and  overhead,  like  a  string 
of  floating  stars,  they  indicated  the  traffic  through 
the  air.  In  his  service  man  now  utilized  light,  as 
he  had  never  done  before.  Light  had  shifted 
his  point  of  view.  He  had  come  to  interpret 
life  in  terms  of  light  and  darkness.  His  vocab 
ulary  showed  it,  just  as  his  eye,  his  brain,  were 
influenced  by  it. 

Man  in  this  environment  was  not  quite  him 
self.  That  strangely  penetrating  power  of  light, 
forcing  itself  upon  him  constantly,  obsessed  him. 
And  in  spite  of  his  wonderful,  almost  startling, 
conquest  over  darkness,  in  one  respect  he  was  re 
verting  to  the  primeval — that  was  in  his  dread 
of  darkness.  Darkness  was  uncomfortable  to 


32          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  man  of  the  city.  Light  to  him  meant  se 
curity,  safety.  He  almost  abhorred  darkness. 
He  crept  from  it  as  a  child  does  from  a  shadow. 

Hence  it  was  that  Seebar  was  always  filled 
with  a  strange,  compelling  awe  whenever  he 
stood  thus  in  space,  with  the  winds  wrangling 
about  him,  in  this  high  twilight,  as  it  were,  of 
the  city's  glare.  Here  were  silence  and  isolation. 
Here,  alone  in  the  night,  unhampered  by  the  dif 
ferences  and  disputes  of  men,  remote  from  the 
pressure  of  their  prejudices  and  their  passions, 
able  to  think  as  an  individual  and  not  as  the  com 
munity  thinks,  doubt  sorely  beset  him,  as  it  never 
had  before. 

Was  it  wise,  after  all,  thus  to  overthrow  the 
wonderful  structure  that  Capital  had  upreared? 
The  nation  had  a  population  of  over  two  hundred 
millions.  The  Mississippi  Valley  was  the  centre 
of  commerce,  manufacturing,  and  agriculture. 
Great  canals  criss-crossed  the  country,  bearing 
vast  fleets  of  ocean-going  vessels  bound  for  the 
ports  of  the  world.  The  Mississippi  River  was 


A  City  of  Light  33 

the  outlet  for  all  this  commerce,  and  New 
Orleans,  as  a  consequence,  was  the  third  largest 
city  on  the  continent,  New  York  ranking  second. 
Strange  and  wonderful,  almost  as  strange  and 
wonderful  as  the  original  peopling  of  the  coun 
try,  had  been  the  manner  in  which  the  centre  of 
life  of  the  nation  had  been  shifted  to  the  Mississ 
ippi  Valley  between  the  Allegheny  Mountains 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Rocky  Mountains  on 
the  other. 

It  was  indeed  a  rich,  wonderful  civilization,  a 
materialistic  civilization,  perhaps,  but  no  less 
wonderful  for  that,  which,  centring  in  Chicago, 
had  been  built  up  in  the  Middle  West, — this  city 
of  Chicago,  like  the  great  cities  of  former  civili 
zations,  like  Memphis,  Nineveh,  and  Babylon, 
situated  on  inland  water  ways,  in  the  heart  of  a 
fertile  valley. 

The  interior  ship  canal,  connecting  Chicago 
with  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  had  converted  the 
metropolis  into  a  sea-port.  She  shared  in  the 
trade  with  South  America,  Mexico,  and  the  West 


34          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Indies.  The  Panama  Canal  had  brought  her 
nearer  to  the  Pacific  Coast,  to  the  wheat  fields 
and  mines  of  the  Northwest,  to  Alaska  and 
eastern  Siberia,  to  Japan  and  China.  In  the  year 
1952  the  population  of  the  Mississippi  Valley 
was  a  hundred  millions. 

But  notwithstanding  that  this  was  the  most 
wonderful  civilization  that  had  ever  been  up- 
reared,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  people  had 
never  before  been  so  prosperous,  the  old  slogan  of 
half  a  century  earlier  was  in  constant  repetition, 
"  The  rich  are  growing  richer  and  the  poor 
poorer."  Man's  discontent  was  a  paradox.  He 
was  discontented  because  he  had  so  little  reason 
to  be.  His  wants  were  over-satisfied,  over-satis 
fied,  at  least,  in  proportion  to  his  merits.  Not  a 
single  being  suffered  from  lack  of  food,  or  cloth 
ing,  or  shelter — the  primary  human  wants, — no, 
nor  from  a  thousand  accessories  to  these  wants. 

Man  was  spoiled  by  economic  ease, — and  yet, 
notwithstanding  this,  he  craved  for  the  still 
easier  life.  A  great  reaction  was  bound  to  come. 


A  City  of  Light  35 

Inconsistently  man  hit  at  the  keystone  of  his 
prosperity — his  economic  system,  and  Socialism,  a 
theoretic  principle  for  many  a  decade  back,  was 
demanded.  Thought  had  revolutionized  the 
world,  in  science  at  least.  Thought  could  like 
wise  revolutionize  the  social  system.  Such  was 
the  fundamental  argument  of  the  Socialistic  lead 
ers  of  the  day. 

But  to  the  reasons  for  this  discontent  Seebar 
was  as  blind  as  his  contemporaries.  He  could 
see  nothing  but  the  benefits  that  he  felt  must 
come  with  a  change  in  the  economic  system. 
Still,  as  his  eye  ranged  over  the  vast  area  of  city, 
he  could  not  escape  the  fact  that  Capital,  as  it 
had  been  organized  in  the  last  half -century,  had 
accomplished  the  truly  wonderful.  His  thoughts 
ran  to  the  accounts  he  had  read  of  the  city  as  it 
had  appeared  in  the  first  decade  of  the  twentieth 
century.  It  must  have  been  a  peculiar  city  then, 
he  reflected, — a  vast,  rambling,  loose-strung 
place,  full  of  dust  and  noise  and  dirt;  a  smoky 
pall  hanging  over  it  by  day  and  by  night,  through 


36          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

whose  smudgy  atmosphere  the  buildings,  dis 
colored,  unsightly,  loomed  in  squatty  masses. 
They  designated  their  twenty-  and  thirty-story 
structures  "  sky-scrapers "  in  all  seriousness. 
Smoke  was  everywhere.  It  discolored  the 
mucous  membrane  of  throat  and  lungs.  Medical 
colleges  were  fond  of  displaying  side  by  side, 
preserved  in  alcohol,  the  pink  "  normal "  lungs 
of  the  countryman  with  those  of  the  resident  in 
Chicago.  In  post-mortem  examinations  the  dis 
sector's  knife  was  said  to  grit  upon  minute 
particles  of  carbon  as  it  cut  through  the  tissue  of 
the  lungs. 

The  city,  two  hundred  square  miles  of  it,  with 
2,000,000  inhabitants,  was  as  if  it  had  been 
spilled  out  over  the  prairie.  In  many  respects  it 
trailed  in  the  wake  of  Eastern  cities.  In  some 
things  it  led.  It  was  then,  as  to-day,  the  biggest 
railroad  centre  in  the  world.  It  was  a  vast  grain 
market;  it  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  iron  mines. 
In  much  the  same  manner,  though  not,  of  course, 
in  the  same  degree,  as  later,  the  city  was  the 


A  City  of  Light  37 

centre  of  the  Nation's  trade  and  commerce.  But 
after  all,  it  was  more  like  a  huge  village  than  a 
city. 

Seebar  laughed  softly  to  himself  at  the  pic 
ture.  "  A  rum  sort  of  place  it  must  have  been," 
he  mused.  Capitalism  had  indeed  since  built  up 
a  great  materialistic  civilization  on  that  crude 
basis,  but  could  not  Socialism  do  still  better? 

As  the  lake  breeze  blowing  about  his  head 
began  to  cool  his  blood  and  clear  his  brain,  See- 
bar's  doubts  vanished.  Once  more  he  felt  abso 
lute  confidence  in  himself  and  in  his  purpose. 

He  took  a  final  look  at  the  far-flung  lights. 

Well,  what  of  them?  What  if  Capitalism  had 
created  this  city  of  cities,  this  miracle  of  light? 
Socialism  would  create  a  greater  city,  or  if  not 
a  greater,  a  less  materialistic,  and,  certainly,  a 
much  happier  one! 


CHAPTER  III 
WHAT  HAPPENED  ELECTION  NIGHT 

T  T  7  HEN  Seebar  at  last  descended  to  his  office, 
he  found  three  men  awaiting  him.  They 
were  Henry  Bornheim  and  Edgar  Jeppels, — 
both  candidates  for  office  on  the  Socialistic 
ticket, — and  Harry  Thornton,  managing  editor 
of  the  Daily  Globe. 

They  had  been  receiving  reports  of  the  general 
election  by  telephone,  and  as  Seebar  learned  by 
a  question  or  two,  these  reports  so  far  had 
merely  confirmed  the  expected — that  the  cities 
were  going  heavily  Socialistic  and  the  rural  dis 
tricts  almost  solidly  Individualistic.  Since  the 
old  system  of  balloting  for  presidential  electors 
had  been  displaced  by  direct  vote  for  the  candi 
dates  themselves,  returns  by  states  had  largely 
lost  their  significance. 

"  You've  got  a  cold  hand  to-night,  Seebar," 
38 


What  Happened  Election  Night      39 

said  Bornheim.  "  I  bet  ten  to  one  you've  been 
mooning  up  in  that  tower.  Your  crow's  nest 
seems  to  chill  your  blood." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Seebar,  slightly  smiling; 
though  his  dark  eyes  were  a  trifle  sterner  than 
his  lips. 

Indeed  his  greeting  of  Bornheim  had  not  been 
more  than  polite,  for  despite  the  latter's  outward 
polish  there  was  something  about  the  man  he  had 
always  instinctively  disliked. 

"  Oh,  he's  got  a  warm  enough  hand  for  his 
friends,  I  guess,"  put  in  Thornton  bluntly. 
"  Seebar's  an  orator,  not  a  politician." 

"  No,  not  a  practical  politician,"  retorted 
Bornheim. 

"What's  a  practical  politician?"  asked  See- 
bar  with  mild  insolence. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Seebar,"  broke  in  Jeppels, 
the  active  ward  heeler.  "  You  big  fellows  make 
a  devil  of  a  bluff  at  being  '  clean-handed,'  and  all 
that  sort  of  rot;  but  all  you  do  is  talk  a  lot  of 
bunk  about  *  civic  virtue,'  and  let  us  little  guys 


40          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

do  the  dirty  work.  If  it  ain't  done  though,  how 
you  howl !  " 

"  I've  never  condoned  dirty  work,"  replied 
Seebar  with  a  show  of  warmth,  "  and  I've  put  a 
stop  to  it  wherever  I  could.  No  one  knows  that 
better  than  you,  Jeppels,"  he  added  significantly. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  laughed  Bornheim,  tugging  at 
his  short  black  mustache.  "  We're  quite  too 
moral  to  condescend  to  mingle  with  the  rabble, 
are  we?  Just  direct  their  puny  efforts  at  a  dis 
tance  like  a  god,  eh  ?  " 

Jeppels'  dull  gray  eyes  were  beginning  to  gleam 
in  his  flabby,  wrinkled  face.  "  Damn  you  fel 
lows,"  he  exclaimed,  doubling  up  a  heavy,  hair- 
covered  hand ;  "  we  drive  the  voters  into  line. 
We  browbeat  and  lie  and  coax,  and  then  you  big 
guys  have  the  nerve  to  take  what  we  slip  you, 
and  spit  on  us  besides.  You  talk  about  the  Cap 
italists.  By  God,  you're  all  alike ;  just  as  bad !  " 

"  Oh,  come,  gentlemen,  we  don't  want  to 
quarrel,"  said  Seebar  good-naturedly.  "This 
election  must  be  getting  on  our  nerves." 


What  Happened  Election  Night      41 

"  All  right,  old  man,"  Bornheim  replied,  slap 
ping  Seebar  on  the  back.  "  We'll  all  be  so  kind- 
hearted  when  we're  in  power  that  there'll  be  no 
more  quarreling,  eh?  Society  is  going  to  be 
deliciously  topsy-turvy.  We're  going  to  upset 
everything,  from  the  church  to  the  home.  We'll 
live  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  our  morality  will 
be  as  healthful,  as  primitive,  as  unaffected,  as 
Adam's  and  Eve's  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  I'm 
sorry  that  we  weren't  able  to  get  that  free  love 
plank  in  the  platform." 

Free  love!  In  spite  of  his  expressed  desire 
for  harmony,  Seebar  could  not  quite  conceal  his 
grimace  of  disgust.  That  was  one  of  the  tenets 
of  a  wing  of  the  party.  In  fact,  as  Seebar  was 
obliged  to  admit  to  himself,  there  was  a  curious 
union  of  many  diverse  elements  in  the  Socialist 
party  that  were  not  brought  into  the  ranks  by 
conversion  to  its  economic  principles. 

Jeppels  noticed  the  slight  look  of  disgust. 
"  Ha-ha-ha !  "  he  laughed.  "  Seebar,  you're  a 
good  one.  You're  not  in  this  game  for  what 


42          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

there's  in  it.  Damn  it,  if  I  don't  half-believe 
you're  working  for  the  public  good." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Seebar  with  assumed  ease, 
"  I  believe  I  am." 

At  that  moment  he  hardly  knew  which  he  de 
tested  the  more,  the  smiling  Jeppels,  with  his 
face  frankly  coarse  and  voluptuous,  or  Bornheim, 
with  his  cool,  polished  air,  regarding  with  amused 
contempt,  scarcely  veiled,  the  outburst  of  the  ward 
heeler. 

For  relief  Seebar  turned  to  Thornton.  "  So 
you're  really  going  to  issue  to-morrow,  as 
usual?" 

Thornton  nodded  in  his  grave  fashion. 
"  We're  going  to  stand  back  of  our  statement 
that,  regardless  of  the  results  of  the  election,  we 
shall  print  the  returns.  Of  course,  if  the  Social 
ists  win,  to-morrow  will  be  the  last  time  we  go 
to  press.  The  paper  passes,  as  does  everything 
else,  into  the  hands  of  the  government.  And  I 
feel  that  the  Socialists  are  going  to  win.  Yes, 
boys,  I  believe  it's  good-by,  old  Globe!  After  to- 


What  Happened  Election  Night      43 

morrow  there  will  be  but  one  paper  issued  in 
Chicago,  and  that  will  be  a  government  sheet." 
There  was  just  the  hint  of  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 
"  But  we're  going  to  give  the  ungrateful  public 
the  news  right  up  to  the  last  minute.  We  take 
a  pride  in  doing  so.  You  may  ask,  why  should 
we  stick  to  the  helm  after  our  ship  is  confiscated 
by  the  state?  It  may  appear  theatrical  in  the 
eyes  of  some,  but  we  don't  look  at  it  that  way. 
I  tell  you,  gentlemen,"  and  Thornton's  blue  eyes 
flashed  in  their  earnestness,  "  we  feel  that  the 
newspaper  is  a  public  institution,  and  that  we 
owe  it  to  the  public  to  serve  it  up  to  the  last 
possible  moment  of  our  usefulness.  The  news 
paper  is  a  servant  of  the  public.  It  must  look 
out  for  the  public's  interests  first,  its  own 
second.  When  you  win,  and  every  one  sees  the 
fact  fairly  and  squarely  stated  in  the  Capitalistic 
press,  then  the  Nation  will  at  once  know  just 
where  it  stands — just  what  it  has  done.  There 
is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  questioning  the  re 
turns.  If  we  must  have  a  new  regime,  let  it 


44          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

come  in  as  peaceably  as  possible.  Henceforth, 
the  newspapers  will  be  owned  by  the  government. 
They  will  have  an  identical  policy.  That  may  be 
a  good  thing,  or  it  may  prove  to  be  a  bad  thing. 
But  I  believe  it  will  be  recognized  that  the  news 
papers  under  private  ownership  were  more  faith 
ful  to  the  public  interests  than  they  are  generally 
credited  with  being  to-day." 

"  Idealists,  idealists,  every  one,"  protested 
Bornheim,  his  smooth  cheeks  wreathed  in  smiles. 
"  This  sort  of  talk  of  yours  and  Seebar's  makes 
me  uncertain  as  to  the  reality  of  things.  If  it 
wasn't  for  Jeppels  with  his  practical  point  of 
view,  I'd  begin  to  feel  a  bit  nervous,"  he  added, 
in  an  attempt  at  facetiousness. 

"  Well,"  retorted  Thornton,  "  it's  idealists  that 
are  making  this  election  possible  for  you  Social 
ists." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  that  adds  a  sort  of  spice 
to  the  thing "  began  Bornheim,  but  the  tele 
phone  rang  at  that  moment,  and  he  stopped  to 
answer  it. 


What  Happened  Election  Night      45 

As  he  listened,  a  smile  again  came  to  his  face. 
"  A  lot  of  the  country  districts  in  the  South  are 
actually  going  our  way,"  he  explained;  "why, 
we've  got  this  election  in  a  walk-away.  We're 
going  to  sweep "  Suddenly  a  frown  dis 
placed  the  smile. 

"  Humph,"  he  commented,  a  moment  later, 
snapping  up  the  receiver,  "  where  do  you  suppose 
the  Capitalistic  votes  are  cropping  out  at? — in 
Boston  and  Philadelphia." 

"Boston  and  Philadelphia!"  repeated  Thorn 
ton. 

"How's  it  running?"  asked  Seebar. 

"  Well,  their  man  Trumbull  is  giving  Furst 
something  to  think  about,  I  guess.  There's  about 
three  hundred  thousand  Capitalist  votes  cast  in 
those  two  cities." 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,  surely,"  ex 
claimed  Seebar  excitedly.  "  Why,  man,  we're 
counting  on  the  East  to  balance  up  with  the 
Rocky  Mountain  section!  We  were  certain 
Furst  would  practically  get  all  the  votes  in  Phila- 


46          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

delphia,  and  Boston,  too.  What  do  you  think, 
Thornton  ?  You  were  in  on  the  straw  vote  taken 
last  month." 

Thornton  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  under 
stand  it,  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  Our  canvass  for  the 
Globe  showed  mighty  few  votes  in  those  cities 
for  Trumbull." 

"  The  Capitalists  have  been  buying  'em  up,  I 
bet  ten  to  one,"  suggested  Jeppels. 

"  Shut  up,  Jeppels,"  snapped  Bornheim  ir 
ritably,  much  as  he  would  speak  to  an  annoying 
child.  His  face  had  suddenly  taken  on  a  set, 
anxious  look.  No  wonder  his  usually  complacent 
manner  and  calm  nerve  were  giving  way  before 
the  uncertainty  of  it  all.  When  the  polls  had 
opened  that  morning,  he,  with  millions  of  other 
Socialists,  had  been  so  confident  of  success.  He 
had  felt  power  and  the  spoils  of  office  already 
in  his  grasp.  He  was  unprepared  for  this  seem 
ing  change  in  the  tide.  Worst  of  all,  defeat 
spelled  not  only  political  ruin,  but  even  ignominy. 
There  were  a  thousand  and  one  indirect  ways  the 


What  Happened  Election  Night      47 

Capitalists  would  find  to  punish  those  who  had 
frightened  them  so  badly. 

Seebar's  first  thought  was  for  the  multitudes 
who  had  pinned  their  hopes  of  the  future,  some 
of  them  their  very  destiny,  on  that  day's  ballot 
ing.  His  second  thought  was  for  himself,  but 
not  with  reference  to  his  own  ambitions.  The 
success  or  failure  of  his  party  in  the  election,  he 
felt,  was  inevitably  linked  with  his  own  personal 
happiness.  A  Capitalistic  victory  would  utterly 
discredit  him.  He  could  not  conceive  the  proud 
Faverall  Markham  yielding  to  his  wishes  after 
such  a  result. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Jeppels'  exclaiming, 
"What's  that?" 

A  flash  of  light  had  burst  through  the  great 
plate  glass  windows  of  the  office,  filling  every 
nook  and  corner  with  white,  overpowering 
glare.  For  an  instant  the  intensity  of  the  rays 
blinded  them. 

'Then  while  they  stood,  staring  and  wonder 
ing,  again  came  that  terrific  flash,  which,  though 


48          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  room  was  already  brilliantly  lighted,  seemed 
fairly  to  stab  their  sight,  as  with  a  sharp  pointed 
dagger. 

As  the  glare,  cut  off  as  instantaneously  as  it 
had  shot  through  space,  piercing  and  merging 
into  itself  all  other  lights,  disappeared,  the  four 
men  there  in  the  room  raised  their  dazzled  eyes 
to  a  square  tower,  pricked  out  by  a  mass  of 
illuminated  windows,  three  blocks  to  the  east 
ward.  It  overtopped  by  perhaps  one  hundred 
feet  the  sixty-  and  seventy-story  sky-piercers  that 
stood, — huge,  formidable  walls, — on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  broad  thoroughfare. 

Hanging  about  the  head  of  the  tower,  a  soft 
glow,  like  a  nimbus,  appeared.  Then  once  more 
the  great  flood  of  light  poured  upon  them,  beat 
ing  down  their  vision  in  a  constant  succession  of 
waves,  as  the  rays  were  rapidly  turned  off 
and  on. 

Below,  in  the  broad  streets,  could  be  heard, 
through  the  closed  windows,  a  sudden  upburst 
of  voices,  and  a  muffled  roar,  like  the  beating  of  a 


What  Happened  Election  Night      49 

tempest  through  a  screen  of  trees, — the  beating 
roar  of  a  multitude  of  feet. 

"  It's  the  final  returns  from  Washington," 
said  Bornheim,  new  hope  lighting  up  his  face. 
The  noise  in  the  street  had  died  away.  Even  the 
throbbing  of  feet  was  stilled.  The  glare  was 
gone.  With  bewildered  eyes  they  found  their 
way  to  the  window,  and  raising  the  sash,  looked 
down  into  the  street. 

So  far  as  they  could  see,  from  wall  to  wall  the 
mob  was  packed,  silent,  expectant.  The  faces 
were  partly  upturned,  strangely  pale,  oval  things 
under  the  white  lights  of  the  city — set  off  by  the 
darkness  of  hair  and  hats  and  garments — fore 
shortened,  they  paved  the  street,  blurring  off  in 
the  distance  in  a  pallid  mass. 

These  faces  were  all  turned  toward  a  vast 
illuminated  space  on  the  front  of  a  wedge-shaped 
building,  which,  visible  up  the  whole  length  of 
the  thoroughfare,  stood  where  the  street 
branched  out  like  the  arms  of  the  letter  Y,  the 
building  standing  in  the  cleft. 


50          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Flashed  the  words :  "  Furst  making  slight 
gains  in  Pennsylvania  and  New  York  country 
regions.  Boston  Individualistic  vote  surprisingly 
heavy." 

And  then  the  words  were  gone,  and  only  the 
eye  of  white  light  lay  upon  the  wall. 

"  I  can't  stand  this,"  said  Seebar,  turning  to 
the  others.  "  This  way  of  awaiting  our  fate  and 
the  Nation's  is  too  cold-blooded.  Let's  get  down 
there  where  life  is  circulating  and  be  a  part  of 
the  electorate." 

Still  half -blinded  they  found  their  way  to  the 
elevator. 

In  the  street  it  was  chill  and  damp — a  raw 
blast  now  and  then  sweeping  in  from  the  lake 
to  the  eastward,  which  the  broad  thoroughfares 
seemed  fairly  to  suck  in.  At  every  gust,  the 
crowd  shrank  closer  into  itself,  each  man  with 
coat  collar  turned  up,  his  hands  down  deep  in 
pockets.  Chicago,  the  wonder  city  of  the 
twentieth  century,  had  conquered  darkness  and 
solved  the  problem  of  rapid  transit,  but  the  pene- 


What  Happened  Election  Night       51 

trating,  chilling  lake  breezes  were  beyond  the 
control  of  the  metropolis. 

As  they  pressed  into  the  fringe  of  the  throng, 
they  heard  a  man  directly  behind  them  remark 
to  his  companion,  "  Those  rich  bugs  are  having 
a  hell  of  a  time  over  in  La  Salle  Street.  They 
know  the  election's  gone  dead  against  them. 
You  ought  to  see  them  scramble  to  get  that  gold 
under  shipment.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  the 
crowd  stops  'em  before  the  night's  over." 

"Why,"  said  the  other,  "I  thought  they 
shipped  it  all  long  ago." 

"  Well,  it  seems  they  haven't.  I  guess  they've 
been  holding  it  for  business  deals  should  they 
pull  through,  but  a  sort  of  a  panic  seems  to  have 
got  'em  now." 

Seebar  turned  to  the  speaker.  "  Under  the 
vote  we've  taken  to-day,"  he  said,  "  all  citizens 
have  two  months  in  which  to  remove  their  port 
able  property,  if  they  want  to." 

"  I  know  it,  but  you  bet  we're  not  going  to  let 
'em  fool  us  like  that,"  chuckled  the  man.  "  No, 


52          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

sir,  not  much !  We're  going  to  give  these  damned 
Capitalists  a  taste  of  their  own  medicine.  That 
money  belongs  to  the  people,  that's  where  it 
belongs." 

Bornheim  smiled,  in  his  provokingly  knowing 
way,  and  his  smile  seemed  to  say,  "  See  what  a 
fine  beast  you  have  evoked.  With  me  all  is  a 
matter  of  mere  policy,  but  with  you " 

"  They're  not  all  like  that."  Seebar  was  quick 
in  his  defense  of  the  people.  "  Besides,  they'll 
learn,"  he  added. 

Bornheim  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  were  once 
more  upon  the  wall  of  the  wedge-shaped  building 
where  the  letters  were  again  flashing. 

F-U-R-S-T  E-L-E-C-T-E-D  S-O-C-I-A-L- 
I-S-T-S  S-W-E-E-P  C-O-U-N-T-R-Y  B-Y 
E-S-T-I-M-A-T-E-D  P-L-U-R-A-L-I-T-Y  O-F 
5-0-0-00-0-0. 

The  thing  had  happened,  and  the  crowd  was 
silent.  It  seemed  stupefied  by  what  it  had  done. 
At  a  stroke  the  regime  of  centuries  had  been  cast 
aside — a  new  order  of  things  was  to  come  in 


What  Happened  Election  Night      53 

with  the  morrow,  for  by  their  vote  a  Constitu 
tional  change  had  also  been  made  that  day, 
abolishing  all  property  in  the  instruments  of  pro 
duction.  As  Seebar  had  said,  two  months'  time 
was  to  be  given  the  Capitalists  to  turn  their 
property  over  to  the  state,  but  on  the  other  hand 
the  new  government  which  stepped  into  power  on 
the  morrow  was  pledged  to  encourage  a  change 
before  that  time,  wherever  possible.  There  was 
to  be  no  buying  out  of  property  by  the  state. 
The  people,  by  their  vote,  had  confiscated  all 
property — outside  of  a  certain  quantity  of  per 
sonal  effects — to  the  use  of  the  state. 

In  spite  of  the  vigorous,  indeed  vehement, 
manner  in  which  the  issues  of  the  campaign  had 
been  waged,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
people  were  most  keenly  alive  to  these  issues, 
now  that  their  wishes  had  been  realized,  they 
seemed  stunned,  dazed,  and  they  began  to  stare 
at  each  other  in  a  strange,  half-interrogatory, 
half-accusing  way,  as  if  afraid  of  what  they  had 
done. 


54          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

And  yet  the  millions  in  the  huge  city,  stifled  by 
the  vast  civilization  they  had  reared  about  them, 
had  gasped  for  liberty — freedom,  as  they  thought 
— from  the  tyranny  of  labor.  The  clerk  behind 
the  counter,  the  mechanic  at  his  bench,  even  the 
general  superintendent  in  his  office,  chafed  at  the 
chains  of  restraint  every  high  civilization  must 
inevitably  forge  for  itself.  The  pleasures  and 
luxuries  of  the  rich  were  at  the  door  of  the 
wage-earner.  Poverty,  to  him  who  cared  to 
work,  was  unknown,  and  work  was  to  be  had 
for  the  asking.  The  spiritual  side  of  life  had 
been  largely  lost.  The  ends  of  existence  were 
measured  in  terms  of  quantity  and  magnitude. 
Men  were  constantly  seeking  escape  from  the 
discontent  that  was  destroying  them, — seeking  it 
in  worldly  goods  and  in  worldly  pleasures,  and 
craving  always  for  more  of  them.  In  their  hearts 
they  hated  the  wealthy  classes,  the  conservators 
and  directors  of  the  Nation's  resources,  who  shut 
them  off  from  what  they  regarded  as  their  just 
share. 


What  Happened  Election  Night       55 

Seebar,  too,  had  felt  the  same  revulsion  of 
feeling  that  had  swept  over  the  crowd.  Now,  as 
his  eyes  continued  to  range  over  the  faces,  again 
he  read  a  great  reaction. 

In  the  many  days  of  whirlwind  speech-making, 
he  had  seen  just  such  crowds,  but  on  the  faces  of 
its  members  there  had  never  appeared  quite  the 
look  of  rapt,  wondering  delight  that  he  read  now 
on  the  multitude  of  faces  tilted  skyward.  He 
caught  for  an  instant  the  crowd's  vision  of  what 
neither  they  nor  he  understood — a  great  broad 
highway,  of  which,  contrary  to  the  laws  of  per 
spective,  they  formed  the  vanishing  point,  and  as 
they  looked  down  this  road  it  ever  widened  out 
like  a  huge  angle,  only  disappearing  finally  be 
yond  a  wonderfully  brilliant  horizon.  This  was 
the  magnificent  highway  down  which  Socialism 
was  now  to  march  unimpeded. 

But  there  was  something,  also,  on  their  faces 
that  Seebar  did  not  quite  like.  It  reminded  him 
of  the  faces  of  a  winning  crowd  at  a  horse  race. 

As  in  such  moods  action  of  some  sort  must 


56          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

follow,  there  was  not  lacking  the  voice  to  give  it 
impulse. 

He  was  only  a  bit  of  a  lad  that  fired  the  train 
that  night — perhaps  thirteen  years  old,  with  a 
head  of  red  hair  dimmed  in  the  white  light. 
Bright-eyed,  thin- faced,  he  was  standing  on  the 
broad  ledge  of  a  pillar  that  helped  to  support  the 
overhanging  arch  at  the  doorway  of  a  huge 
department  store  building.  Seebar  all  at  once 
had  noticed  him,  a  conspicuous,  if  miniature,  live 
thing  in  a  red  sweater,  a  noticeable  contrast  with 
the  inert  massiveness  and  colorlessness  of  the 
pillar. 

He  seemed  greatly  excited,  for  his  eyes  were 
round  and  big  and  shining,  almost  weirdly  so  in 
so  pale  a  face,  and  his  feet  beat  restlessly. 

As  Seebar  looked  at  him  the  boy  leaned  for 
ward,  almost  to  the  point  of  falling,  and  from 
his  elevation  ten  feet  above  their  heads  he  cried 
down  upon  the  crowd,  his  voice  shrill  and  sharp. 

Seebar  could  not  understand  the  words,  for  at 
that  instant  a  spontaneous  "  hurrah,"  the  shout 


What  Happened  Election  Night       57 

of  victory  and  relief,  was  already  beginning  to 
rise. 

Still  the  roar  of  voices  could  not  quite  drown 
the  boy's  thin  cry.  Its  sharpness  pierced  the 
greater,  heavier  sound.  Men  close  by  began  to 
laugh  and  point  at  the  excited  little  figure,  now 
growing  red  in  the  face  and  gesticulating. 

Then  all  at  once  in  a  partial  lull  his  voice 
piped  through  the  din  in  a  high-pitched  cry  that 
could  not  be  disregarded,  "  Le's  go'n  josh  the 
millionaires  over  in  La  Salle." 

A  great  burst  of  laughter  went  up, — laughter 
that  was  contagious,  drowning  utterly  the  heavy 
booming  cheers  in  the  distance.  Those  who  had 
not  caught  the  words  laughed  too.  Then  the 
cheering  recommenced,  still  mingled  with  the 
laughter,  and  all  about  Seebar  the  crowd  was 
pressing  in  closer,  forcing  him  slowly,  almost  im 
perceptibly  back,  inch  by  inch,  as  it  tried  to  wedge 
in  still  nearer  to  the  boy. 

He  found  himself  with  Jeppels,  against  the 
base  of  the  pillar,  two  or  three  steps  up  the  flight. 


58          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

They  could  look  out  over  the  crowd, — a  field  of 
hands,  shaking  high  in  air,  and  of  nodding  heads, 
curious  to  look  upon. 

"The  kid  wants  sport;  well,  I'll  give  him 
some,"  Jeppels  bellowed  in  Seebar's  ear. 

As  he  spoke,  he  caught  at  the  boy's  legs, 
almost  like  an  animal  snatching  at  its  prey.  See- 
bar  saw  the  boy  totter  and  his  feet  give  way 
beneath  him,  and  then  he  shot  head-first,  in  a 
regular  dive,  down  upon  the  heads  of  the  crowd. 
He  was  seized  by  a  score  of  hands  and  whirled 
and  cast  about,  a  red-coated,  squirming  thing,  in 
a  human  whirlpool. 

Suddenly  this  game  stopped.  As  hands  caught 
at  the  boy  and  arms  tossed  him,  a  broad- 
shouldered  man,  towering  above  his  fellows  by 
nearly  a  head,  reached  out  for  the  living  play 
thing,  and  held  it  above  his  head,  free  from  the 
crowd. 

"  Now,"  he  thundered,  "  let  the  lad  alone  and 
we'll  go  over  and  '  josh  the  millionaires/  as  he 
says."  And  he  began  to  push  forward. 


What  Happened  Election  Night      59 

Another  cheer  went  up.  The  spirit  of  his  sug 
gestion  seemed  to  radiate  through  the  crowd.  A 
zigzag  path  began  slowly  to  open  up  to  let  pass 
man  and  boy.  Those  who  had  pressed  aside  fell 
in  again.  Presently  this  little  trickling  stream 
had  started  other  little  trickling  streams.  Bit  by 
bit  the  crowd  melted,  till  from  wall  to  wall  the 
faces  flowed  past  Seebar,  through  the  chasm- 
like  street,  in  a  torrent. 

Stepping  from  the  stairs  of  the  building  to  the 
sidewalk,  he  felt  himself  drawn  into  this  tor 
rent  like  a  bit  of  buoyant  wood.  Far  ahead  he 
could  see  the  read  sweater  bobbing  up  and  down 
like  a  strangely  frail  craft.  He  could  begin  to 
grasp  the  humor  of  the  situation  now,  though  at 
first  he  had  felt  nothing  but  indignation  toward 
Jeppels  at  his  treatment  of  the  boy.  Jeppels, 
sprawling  against  the  pillar  after  his  sweeping 
stroke,  and  cursing  to  himself;  the  surprised  and 
startled  look  on  the  upturned  faces  as  the 
youngster  came  tumbling  down;  the  wild  catch 
ing  and  tossing,  and  the  whirlpool  of  heads  and 


60          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

hands, — the  thought  of  these  things  brought  an 
amused  smile  to  Seebar's  lips. 

What  was  their  purpose  or  why  they  went  no 
one  seemed  to  know,  or  even  to  consider.  Of 
Bornheim  and  Thornton,  Seebar  had  lost  track 
some  time  before,  and  now  Jeppels  was  gone,  too. 

After  all  the  anxieties  and  worries  of  the  many 
weeks  past,  Seebar  found  it  pleasurable  to  aban 
don  himself  to  the  unconscious,  non-personal 
whim  of  the  mob,  which  seemed  as  care-free  as 
a  crowd  of  college  boys  out  for  a  lark.  He  felt 
that  there  was  excitement,  and  adventure,  too,  in 
going  with  the  crowd. 

Now  and  again  as  they  marched,  a  long  re 
verberating  cheer  would  break  forth,  starting 
perhaps  at  the  head  of  the  column  and  rolling 
back  down  the  line. 

Westward  they  continued,  pouring  into  the 
mouths  of  the  streets  that  opened  like  vast  gorges, 
till  at  last  the  torrent  rushed,  with  the  laugh 
ing  boy  on  its  breast,  into  La  Salle  Street,  the 
financial  centre  of  the  Nation. 


What  Happened  Election  Night       61 

In  the  early  days  of  the  century  La  Salle 
Street  had  been  a  dark,  narrow,  canyon-like 
place,  dirty  and  rough-paved,  with  dingy,  smoke- 
blackened  buildings  of  stone.  At  that  time  the 
Board  of  Trade  Building  divided  the  street  into 
two  sections.  Where  the  thoroughfare  began 
again  to  the  south,  still  narrower,  was  a  region 
of  squalid  tenement  houses,  printing  establish 
ments,  and  railroad  freight  depots.  The  clean, 
broad,  white,  well-lighted  roadway  cutting  right 
through,  was  the  dream  then  of  only  a  few  who 
could  see  into  the  future  more  clearly  than  could 
their  fellows. 

As  it  debouched  into  the  broad  thoroughfare, 
Seebar  felt  as  if  the  mob  were  spreading  out 
into  a  lake,  pent  up  as  it  had  been  between  the 
walls  of  the  more  narrow  street  through  which 
it  had  been  passing. 

After  nightfall,  ordinarily,  La  Salle  Street  was 
quiet,  though  brilliantly  lighted.  But  to-night  it 
was  a  scene  of  feverish  activity.  The  street  was 
jammed  with  automobile  trucks;  the  windows  of 


62          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

nearly  every  building  blazed  with  lights;  men 
bearing  compact,  steel-bound  boxes  were  hurry 
ing  down  the  broad,  marble  steps,  and  placing 
their  burdens  in  the  automobiles. 

Seebar  could  see  that  here,  too,  the  results  of 
the  election  were  known,  and  the  last  shipments 
of  coin  were  being  made  out  of  the  country. 

At  one  of  these  buildings,  a  hatless,  gray- 
headed  man  in  a  frock  coat,  with  a  fine,  yet 
strong  face,  stood,  holding  open  the  great  door. 
As  Seebar  saw  him  he  had  a  vague  feeling  of 
uneasiness — almost  of  foreboding. 

The  automobile  trucks  partially  impeded 
progress,  and  the  mob,  overflowing  pavement  and 
sidewalk,  was  rising  up  the  steps  of  the  building 
like  a  tide.  And  step  by  step  Seebar  was  borne 
up  with  it,  close  to  where  the  banker  stood, 
holding  open  the  door.  Momentarily  the  press 
was  growing  thicker.  Men  were  beginning  to 
struggle  for  room,  and  twisting  his  head  around, 
Seebar  saw  that  the  faces  were  still  streaming  in 
endlessly. 


What  Happened  Election  Night      63 

The  red-haired  boy,  who  had  started  the  rush 
thither,  had  disappeared  and  been  forgotten. 
Men  were  beginning  to  ask  themselves  what  it 
was  all  about;  what  they  were  there  for.  This 
crowding  about  a  man  standing  against  a  pillar 
and  holding  open  a  door  was  beginning  to  have  a 
tinge  of  the  absurd  in  it. 

The  unexpected  tragedy  came  quickly.  Four- 
men  had  appeared,  struggling  with  a  box,  ap 
parently  of  great  weight.  The  dignified  banker 
stooped  to  assist,  and  as  he  did  so  the  door  swung 
shut,  sweeping  the  eyeglasses  from  his  face. 
Some  one  hooted,  and  in  a  spirit  of  mere  idle 
mischievousness  others  took  up  the  cry,  raising 
a  derisive  shout. 

In  a  sudden  overwhelming  rush  of  the  crowd 
that  followed,  Seebar  found  himself  struggling 
and  gasping  for  breath.  The  horde  of  men 
swarmed  thick  about  the  banker.  They  were 
pushing  him  farther  and  farther  back.  Then 
something  obstructed  progress  in  that  direction. 
But  still  the  crowd  pressed  on.  Suddenly  the 


64          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

gray  head  seemed  to  bend  back,  and  above  the  din 
rose  one  awful,  screaming  cry. 

The  mob  swung  away,  like  the  receding  of  a 
wave. 

And  then  Seebar  beheld  the  horror.  The  gray- 
haired  man,  forced  against  the  side  railing  and 
bent  over  backward,  was  now  hanging  across  it  at 
the  waist  like  a  partially  emptied  sack. 

Some  one  lifted  the  body  and  attempted  to  set 
it  on  its  feet.  But  eluding  his  grasp  it  slipped  to 
the  steps,  and  lay,  a  huddled  thing,  face  to  one 
side,  with  one  hand  sprawled  out.  Slowly  a 
bright  red  stream  trickled  from  the  mouth,  down 
the  marble  steps. 

In  sickening,  helpless  horror  Seebar  watched  it. 

Red!  That  was  the  color  of  the  new  national 
flag,  emblematic  of  the  universal  brotherhood 
of  man. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  EVICTION 

TT  was  several  months  after  that  terrible 
night — to  be  exact,  the  twenty-ninth  day  of 
March,  1953 — that  Alfred  Seebar  descended  into 
the  mono-rail  subway  at  State  and  Van  Buren 
streets,  and  took  the  train  for  the  North  Shore. 
His  destination  was  the  home  of  the  Markhams. 

In  spite  of  his  hope  that  his  relations  with 
Dorothy  Markham  would  be  renewed  after  the 
election,  he  had  neither  seen  her  nor  heard  from 
her  since  that  summer  night,  now  many  months 
back,  when  he  had  pleaded  with  her  in  her 
father's  library.  As  before  the  night  of  that 
interview,  his  letters  still  remained  unanswered. 
He  had  not  quite  despaired,  however,  and  it  was 
ever  in  his  mind  to  see  her  again,  and  soon. 

But  it  was  not  the  hope  of  a  reconciliation  that 

prompted  him  to  make  a  visit  this  March  morn- 

65 


66          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

ing.  It  was  a  decree  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States,  handed  down  but  yesterday, 
that  had  impelled  him  to  this  sudden  resolution 
and  action. 

Though  the  new  Constitution  adopted  on  elec 
tion  day  in  the  previous  November  was  by  its 
own  terms  to  go  into  immediate  effect,  even  with 
nearly  five  months  intervening  the  machinery  of 
the  new  regime  was  not,  as  yet,  working  at  all 
smoothly.  There  seemed  to  be  endless  confusion 
and  resistance  to  the  new  order.  The  courts  had 
been  called  upon  time  and  again  to  pass  upon  the 
constitutionality  of  certain  seizures  or  threatened 
seizures  of  property.  The  judges,  elected  by 
direct  vote  of  the  people  for  limited  periods, 
leaned  heavily  toward  governmental  claims  in 
their  decisions. 

Only  the  day  before,  the  question  of  the  dis 
position  of  houses  occupied  by  their  owners  had 
been  settled.  The  new  Constitution,  through 
oversight  in  its  framing,  had  been  ambiguous 
upon  this,  as  upon  several  other  points.  The 


The  Eviction  67 

decree  of  the  Supreme  Court  had  been  sweeping 
and  final.  All  residential  property  still  in  the 
hands  of  private  owners  must  be  vacated  at  once. 
The  age  had  gone  mad  over  specialization,  con 
centration,  and  big-scale  production.  This  had 
spread  even  to  the  mode  of  living.  It  was  esti 
mated  that  families  could  live  at  a  less  cost,  and 
better,  if  they  were  housed  under  as  few  roofs 
as  possible.  Individual  dwellings  required  in 
dividual  heating  plants,  individual  kitchens,  in 
dividual  dining-rooms.  Concentration  in  munic 
ipal  apartment  houses  or  hotels  would  require 
less  labor,  besides  husbanding  the  Nation's  re 
sources.  Individual  family  life  must  largely 
vanish,  but  big-scale  living,  like  big-scale  produc 
tion,  was  the  Socialist  ideal. 

"  There  is  room,  plenty  of  it,"  ran  the  wording 
of  the  Supreme  Court  decision,  "  in  the  huge 
office  buildings,  empty  stores,  and  hotels,  to  ac 
commodate  the  entire  population  of  the  big 
cities." 

This  was  indeed  practically  true,  and  many  of 


68          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  sky-piercers,  now  necessarily  abandoned  by 
business  men,  had  been  converted  into  municipal 
apartment  buildings.  Faverall  Markham  had 
been  one  of  those  most  conspicuous  in  fighting 
the  confiscation  of  their  homes  by  the  state.  But 
the  state  had  won.  And  now  the  state  had 
marked  him  out  as  among  the  first  to  be  evicted. 
Swift  and  summary  action,  it  was  declared, 
would  vindicate  the  strength  and  power  of  the 
new  government. 

As  "  General  Superintendent  of  Chicago  and 
Adjacent  Suburbs,"  such  was  the  title  under 
which  he  had  been  elected,  Seebar  and  his  sub 
ordinates  were  called  upon  by  the  duties  of  their 
office  to  oversee  the  removal  of  Mr.  Markham 
and  several  other  conspicuously  obstinate 
thwarters  of  the  government's  plans.  Seebar 
feared  the  harsh  measures  that  might  be  adopted 
and  dreaded  the  thought  of  the  brusque  treat 
ment,  which,  in  all  probability,  would  be  accorded 
father  and  daughter.  His  presence,  he  felt, 
would  at  least  prevent  that. 


The  Eviction  69 

It  was  some  thirty  miles  that  he  had  to  go. 
In  his  preoccupied  state  of  mind  it  seemed  but 
the  interval  of  a  minute  from  the  stepping  into 
the  elevator  that  carried  him  down  into  the  sub 
way  to  his  arrival  at  his  destination, — a  little 
beyond  Highland  Park.  And  all  the  way  his 
mind  ran  on  but  one  thing — that  was  his  hope 
that  the  Markhams  had  submitted  to  the  in 
evitable  and  departed,  leaving  the  officials  in  full 
charge  of  the  removal. 

He  had  telephoned  ahead,  and  one  of  his  sub 
ordinates,  Ransome  by  name,  was  awaiting  him 
with  a  motor  car. 

"How  are  things  going?"  asked  Seebar,  as 
he  took  his  seat. 

"  Oh,  well  enough,  I  guess,"  Ransome  answered 
indifferently,  and  then  they  shot  away,  and  draw 
ing  in  a  long  breath,  Seebar  grew  silent,  lacking 
the  courage  to  ask  a  more  specific  question. 

How  well  he  knew  the  details  of  that  road! 
How  often  had  he  passed  over  it  in  the  old  days! 
Even  then  the  tenets  of  the  Great  Change 


yo          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

had  already  begun  to  fascinate  him, — the  Great 
Change,  which,  at  that  time  only  a  possibility 
of  the  future,  he  had  always  somehow  instinc 
tively  felt  to  be  a  menace  to  Dorothy. 

The  road,  hard,  smooth,  gleaming  white  in 
the  morning  sun,  followed  the  shore  line  of  the 
lake,  the  waters  of  which  reached  in  a  blue  flood, 
to-day  varied  here  and  there  with  purple  and 
green,  and  salmon-hued  tints,  out  to  a  misty 
horizon.  Huge,  black-hulled  craft,  engaged  in 
the  commerce  of  the  inland  ports,  shot  over  the 
waves  at  a  high  rate  of  speed.  To  the  west  of 
the  drive,  but  visible  through  a  screen  of  trees, 
stood  the  residences  of  "  Millionaires'  Row." 

Presently  the  car  drove  around  a  bend  in  the 
road  and  they  had  come  upon  the  Markham 
home. 

Seebar  was  not  quite  prepared  for  the  scene 
that  met  his  eye.  He  had  expected  to  find  a  few 
idle  onlookers,  gazing  curiously  from  outside  the 
premises,  while  the  work  of  removing  the  furni 
ture  and  other  family  effects  should  go  quietly 


The  Eviction  71 

forward.  Perhaps  Mr.  Markham  would  be  giv 
ing  directions,  and  possibly  Dorothy  would  be 
somewhere  about.  If  all  seemed  well,  it  had 
been  his  intention  to  pass  on;  only  in  the  event 
of  apparent  need  would  he  stop. 

But  as  the  lawn  and  buildings  broke  to  view 
through  the  trees,  Seebar  noted  no  signs  of  life 
about  the  place.  Already  an  air  of  desolation 
seemed  subtly  to  emanate  from  the  old  mansion. 

He  was  about  to  ask  Ransome  what  this  meant, 
but  as  the  chauffeur  brought  the  machine  to  a 
stop  directly  in  front  of  the  walk  that  led  up  to 
the  veranda,  for  the  first  time  Seebar  had  an  un 
obstructed  view  of  the  premises,  and  he  under 
stood  for  himself. 

With  a  cry  of  amazement  and  indignation  he 
leaped  out. 

The  grass  was  strewn  with  paper  and  bits  of 
rubbish,  the  flowers  trampled  upon,  the  furniture 
piled  in  reckless  confusion.  Paintings  were 
mingled  with  kitchen  utensils,  and  the  delicate 
leg  of  an  ivory-carved  table,  he  hastily  noted, 


72  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

had  been  jammed  through  a  canvas  of  immense 
size. 

He  turned  an  accusing  glance  upon  Ransome, 
and  the  latter  grew  embarrassed  beneath  the 
stern  gaze. 

"What  sort  of  a  pillage  is  this?"  thundered 
Seebar.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  smashing  up 
the  furniture  in  this  fashion?  Where  are  your 
vans?  Why  aren't  these  things  carted  away?" 

The  man  remained  silent. 

Seebar  advanced  a  step.  "  Answer  me,"  he 
commanded  menacingly. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  returned  Ransome,  sullenly. 
"  These  movers  are  government  employees.  I 
can't  do  anything  with  them.  I  can't  fire  them. 
I  guess  they've  gone  over  to  old  Morton's  place 
to  take  out  the  stuff  there." 

Without  further  word,  Seebar,  hot  with  in 
dignation,  strode  up  the  walk  leading  to  the 
veranda.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  paused  and 
surveyed  for  a  moment  the  house  and  its  sur 
roundings.  It  was  a  fine  old  structure  of  marble 


The  Eviction  73 

and  polished  granite,  for  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  even  in  the  case  of  hotels  and  private  dwell 
ings,  concrete,  reinforced  with  steel,  had,  even  so 
far  back  as  this,  driven  out  all  other  kinds  of 
building  material,  the  very  wealthy  still  persisted 
in  using  these  older  materials.  The  entrance 
was  guarded  by  massive  double  doors,  brass- 
studded. 

As  he  turned  his  back  toward  the  house  for  a 
moment,  his  eyes  ran  over  the  bright-green  turf, 
set  with  rare  shrubs,  and  over  white  wandering 
paths,  leading  back  to  the  pavement.  Over  and 
beyond,  the  waters  of  the  lake  tumbled. 

Starting  again  to  mount  the  steps,  he  paused 
at  the  thought  that  perhaps  the  Markhams  were 
about.  Somehow  or  other,  from  the  moment  he 
had  first  caught  sight  of  the  grounds  to-day  he 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  they  had  departed. 
But  why  had  he  taken  it  for  granted?  If  Doro 
thy  and  her  father  were  still  within — If  at  the 
door  of  this  sacked  and  desecrated  dwelling  he 
should  meet  either  of  them — The  thought  chilled 


74          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

him  like  a  fear.  To  them  it  would  appear  a  cold, 
impertinent  inquisitivenes,  a  coarse  invasion  of 
the  privacy  of  their  grief. 

Still  as  he  looked  down  upon  the  littered  steps, 
and  back  again  at  the  quiet,  silent  building,  it 
secerned  absurd  to  think  its  owners  should  be 
lingering  there.  Besides  if  he  did  not  oversee 
the  removal  of  these  goods,  who  would?  If  the 
exterior  of  the  house  were  an  index  to  the  con 
dition  of  the  interior,  things  there  also  must  be 
in  a  pathetic  state  of  disorder. 

He  halted  in  indecision,  and  was  about  to  call 
Ransome,  who  was  lingering  sullenly  on  the  side 
walk,  when  the  question  was  unexpectedly 
answered  for  him.  At  that  instant  the  big  front 
door  began  slowly  to  open,  while  he  watched, 
half-eager,  half-dismayed.  His  suspense  was  but 
for  a  moment,  and  then  Faverall  Markham  ap 
peared. 

The  strong,  fine  face  of  the  old  man  was  stern 
and  set.  His  cheeks  were  thinner  than  when 
Seebar  had  last  seen  him,  and  there  was  an  un- 


The  Eviction  75 

wonted  grayish  hue  to  the  skin.  Otherwise,  high 
hat,  frock  coat,  cane  and  all,  Faverall  Markham 
seemed  himself. 

As  with  firm  step  and  erect  carriage  he  passed 
Seebar,  his  gaze  was  fixed  ahead  in  a  tense, 
meditative  stare.  Seebar  had  seen  such  a  look 
but  once  before.  That  was  upon  the  face  of  a 
rescued  miner  who  had  faced  death  for  three 
days  underground.  The  old  millionaire  did  not 
appear  to  be  aware  of  the  young  man's  presence. 
Past  him,  his  cane  tapping  upon  veranda  floor 
and  steps,  down  the  walk  he  continued  his  way, 
and  then  Seebar  quietly  opened  the  door  and 
slipped  in. 

Within,  the  desolation  that  met  the  eye  outside 
was  repeated.  The  floor  was  stripped  of  its 
rugs,  the  tapestries  torn  from  the  walls, — one 
alone  remained,  half-hanging  in  its  place,  now 
presenting  the  reversed  side  of  a  mounted  knight 
turned  topsy-turvey.  And  through  the  silence, 
cutting  it  like  a  knife,  ticked  the  great  hall  clock. 

Seebar  had  but  one  purpose  in  mind:  to  see 


76          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

what  there  was  left  to  do,  and  then,  after  making 
sure  his  orders  were  carried  out,  to  take  his 
departure. 

He  hurried  toward  the  library.  The  door  was 
slightly  ajar.  Here  was  the  last  place  he  had 
seen  her.  Softly,  almost  reverently,  he  pushed 
open  the  door  and  looked  in. 

The  window  curtains  were  partly  drawn,  leav 
ing  the  room  in  semi-darkness,  and  the  busts  and 
big  easy  chairs  showed  indistinct  in  the  partial 
dusk.  The  great  lines  of  books,  massed  shelf 
above  shelf,  had  no  identity  as  volumes,  but 
shrank  back  into  the  walls. 

There  was  the  huge  round  table,  at  which  he 
and  Mr.  Markham  had  sat  for  that  last  time, 
when  the  steel  manufacturer  had  practically  for 
bidden  the  young  politician  his  home.  A  sturdy, 
noble  piece  of  furniture  it  was,  hallowed  by 
memories  that  reached  back  almost  to  the  begin 
ning  of  his  love  for  Dorothy.  Its  polished  sur 
face  was  wont  to  reflect  the  shaded  light,  in  a 
soft,  illuminating  glow  that  brought  out  the 


The  Eviction  77 

curves  and  color  of  her  cheeks  and  the  brightness 
of  her  eyes. 

He  took  a  step  forward  and  then  stopped. 

Over  near  the  window,  where  the  light  of  day 
sifted  through,  some  one  occupied  a  chair,  with 
forehead  resting  on  the  back.  It  was  a  woman. 
And  then  it  came  upon  Seebar  with  a  rush  that 
the  woman  must  be  Dorothy. 

Dorothy!  His  head  spun,  and  his  pulses  beat 
vengefully  at  his  wrists. 

And  as  he  looked  he  could  see  the  sheen  of  her 
hair  in  the  ray  of  light,  as  one  long  exhausting 
sob  shook  her  body.  He  longed  to  throw  him 
self  on  his  knees  at  her  side,  to  soothe  her  in  his 
arms,  to  beg  her  forgiveness.  Thus  he  stood, 
hesitating  between  his  doubts  and  his  desires. 

As  he  stood  and  watched,  suddenly  she  raised 
her  head,  shook  out  a  mass  of  disheveled  hair, 
and  turned  her  eyes  in  his  direction.  Like  a 
thief  he  shrank  back,  hiding  himself  in  the  gloom 
of  the  hall.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  trying  to 
gain  courage  to  re-enter. 


78  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Then  as  he  thought  he  heard  a  movement  with 
in,  as  of  a  rustling  of  skirts,  his  tottering  courage 
crumbled,  and  he  fled  to  the  door  and  out  upon 
the  veranda. 

A  buzz  of  voices  greeted  his  ears,  and  Seebar 
knew  something  untoward  was  taking  place  on 
the  sidewalk,  against  which  three  big  automobile 
trucks  had  been  backed.  The  movers,  eight  or  ten 
in  number,  had  reassembled,  and  Faverall  Mark- 
ham  stood  in  their  midst.  Even  as  Seebar  caught 
the  sound  and  looked,  a  hush  fell,  and  then  a 
single  voice,  loud,  insolent,  taunting,  rose: 

"  And  so  you  want  us  to  be  more  careful,  eh, 
Gov'nor?  Hell,  I  can't  help  it  if  the  piano  does 
belong  to  your  daughter.  I've  seen  lots  of  pianos 
dropped  and  split  in  my  time.  '  Careful ! '  The 
word  was  repeated  with  ineffable  scorn.  "  Care 
ful,  he  wants  me  to  be  careful!  Look  at  him, 
boys,  the  ex-millionaire,  the  man  who  had  me 
fired  from  his  mills  for  criminal  carelessness, 
when  it  was  the  foreman's  fault  that  the  steel 
exploded.  Oh,  you  needn't  frown  at  me,  old 


The  Eviction  79 

plug  hat,  I  ain't  trembling  at  you.  I  can  say 
what  I  damn  please  and  to  who  I  damn  please, 
see?" 

There  came  a  response  too  low  for  Seebar  to 
hear. 

"Ah,  I'm  your  good  man,  am  I,  and  let  you 
pass?  Well,  maybe  I  will  and  maybe  I  won't. 
Who  are  you  that  wants  to  get  by,  eh?  I'm  just 
as  good  a  man  as  you  are.  Why  don't  you  get 
out  of  my  way  and  let  me  pass?  " 

"  That's  right,  Jack,  go  for  him,"  some  one  in 
the  crowd  encouraged  banteringly,  and  a  laugh 
followed. 

Seebar,  glowing  with  anger,  started  down  the 
steps  toward  the  group. 

The  man  addressed  as  Jack  was  a  big  burly 
fellow,  with  a  nasty  ragged  scar  on  his  right 
cheek  that  ran  across  the  brow,  giving  a  squint 
ing  appearance  to  his  right  eye.  His  hat  was 
pushed  back,  showing  close-cropped  hair,  and  his 
ears  stood  out  almost  straight, — large,  flabby, 
and  shapeless.  Just  now  his  lower  jaw  was 


80          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

thrust  forward  in  an  insolent,  impudent  fashion, 
that,  had  it  been  within  arm's  length,  would 
strongly  have  tempted  Seebar  to  send  his  fist 
crashing  against  it. 

Mr.  Markham's  face,  as  he  attempted  to  turn 
aside,  showed  white  and  stern,  in  the  midst  of 
the  grinning  group.  The  ugly  leer  was  still 
spread  over  the  man  Jack's  countenance,  and  now 
he  thrust  his  palm,  with  fingers  spread,  jeeringly 
before  the  eyes  of  the  proud  old  man. 

Seebar  sprang  forward. 

But  some  one  with  eyes  as  sharp  to  see  and 
with  sympathies  quicker  to  feel  was  before  him. 
It  was  Dorothy. 

Past  him  she  sped,  her  hair,  a  chestnut  cloud, 
flying  behind  her.  The  men  melted  from  her 
path,  and  once  at  her  father's  side  she  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  clung  there. 

But  the  brutal  Jack,  fatuous  to  a  degree,  not 
noticing  that  the  crowd  was  no  longer  smiling, 
ripped  out  a  coarse  jest.  Instantly  a  fist  shot 
out, — a  brown  fist  that  struck  with  a  resounding 


The  Eviction  81 

crash  upon  the  insolent,  protruding  jaw,  just  as 
Seebar's  fist  had  longed  to  do,  and  the  man  went 
down  in  a  heap. 

It  was  just  a  plain,  ordinary  young  fellow,  one 
of  the  movers,  who  had  struck  the  blow;  the 
kind  of  young  fellow  whose  manhood  redeems 
in  part  the  whole  race  of  men. 

Seebar  gripped  his  hand  and  thanked  him 
warmly.  Then  he  spoke  to  Ransome.  "  Put 
this  man  under  arrest,"  he  ordered,  pointing  to 
the  half-senseless  and  wholly  stunned  bully. 

He  turned  from  giving  his  directions  to  Ran 
some  to  meet  Dorothy's  accusing,  tear-filled  eyes. 
"  And  this — this  is  your  Socialism,"  they  seemed 
to  say. 

Then  her  head  dropped  once  more  on  her 
father's  breast. 


CHAPTER  V 
A    PECULIAR   WELCOME 

T  T  7HEN  Seebar  at  length  left  the  old  Mark- 
ham  home  he  did  not  return  immediately 
to  the  city,  for  a  new  anxiety  gripped  his  heart. 
Up  to  that  moment  the  question  of  the  fate  of 
Dorothy  and  her  father  had  absorbed  all  his 
fears  and  sympathies.  But  now,  after  he  had 
seen  the  two  safely  aboard  the  train  that  was  to 
bear  them  to  one  of  the  newly  improvised  hotels 
in  the  city,  his  mind  was  free  for  the  moment  to 
turn  to  other  things,  and  it  reverted,  as  it  had 
often  done  in  the  past  several  months, — indeed, 
ever  since  the  receipt  of  that  letter  the  night  of 
the  election, — to  the  future  of  his  Uncle  Richard. 
The  country  districts,  voting  almost  as  a  unit 
against  the  radicalism  of  the  cities,  had  not  only 
lost  in  the  elections,  but  they  had  also  incurred 

the  ill-will  of  the  city  dwellers.     Whatever  the 

to 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  83 

merits  of  the  issues  may  have  been,  it  was,  per 
haps,  just  as  well  that  the  vote  resulted  as  it  did. 
For  it  is  doubtful  if  the  metropolitans,  almost  in 
sanely  enthusiastic  as  they  were  over  the  Social 
istic  principles  that  had  at  last  carried  the  citadels 
of  Capitalism,  would  have  submitted  to  their 
plans  and  hopes  being  thwarted  thus.  Civil  war 
might  have  followed.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
farmers  had  no  thought  of  resisting.  They 
lacked  the  cohesion  that  the  close-packed  city 
dwellers  have  always  possessed.  That  little 
resistance  which  did  appear  was  as  sporadic  as 
it  was  futile. 

The  new  regime  meant  the  shifting  of  families 
to  other  lands,  and  in  this  redistributing,  already 
there  was  a  mad  rush  for  the  soil — such  as  was 
wont  to  occur  in  the  closing  years  of  the  nine 
teenth,  and  the  opening  years  of  the  twentieth, 
century  when  reservations, — lands  that  had  been 
set  apart,  usually  for  occupation  by  Indians, — 
were  thrown  open  to  public  settlement.  For,  in 
spite  of  the  Socialistic  principle  of  "  public 


84  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

ownership  in  the  instruments  of  production," 
many  persons  evidently  believed  that  land  oc 
cupation  amounted  very  nearly  to  individual 
ownership,  and  individual  ownership  of  land, 
even  in  a  Socialistic  state,  was  a  thing  not  to  be 
regarded  with  indifference.  That  they  were  mis 
taken  in  their  understanding  as  to  the  methods 
by  which  this  land  was  to  be  occupied  and  culti 
vated  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  presence  of  this 
feeling, — this  desire  for  private  ownership  in  a 
Socialistic  state. 

Seebar  wondered  how  his  uncle  had  fared 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  change.  He  knew  that 
the  work  of  farm  consolidation  had  been  going 
on  for  some  weeks  now.  Perhaps  the  removal 
had  already  been  ordered;  perhaps  might  even 
then  be  taking  place.  The  thought  brought  him 
out  of  his  reverie.  A  word  to  the  chauffeur,  and 
the  automobile  was  turned  into  a  road  leading 
westward. 

It  was  a  little  past  the  noon  hour  when  Seebar's 
car  ascended  a  long  rolling  swell  in  the  prairie 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  85 

over  which  the  road  now  ran  in  its  wanderings 
through  the  fertile  Illinois  countryside.  The 
land,  crop-sown,  dipped  and  stretched  away  in  a 
great  sweep  of  green.  White  roads  led  in 
various  directions,  winding  threads,  criss-cross 
ing  each  other  like  the  lines  of  a  map.  At  the 
farther  foot  of  the  rise  in  the  prairie  lay  the 
little  farm.  Across  the  meadows  a  bit  of  creek 
flashed  its  way,  light-shot  by  the  sun's  rays. 

Uncle  Richard's  house  and  farm  buildings, — 
of  white  concrete, — were  conspicuous  objects  in 
the  black  background  of  barnyard — white  and 
black  upon  a  great  field  of  green. 

Down  the  gentle  slope  the  automobile  rolled, 
and  came  to  a  stop  in  front  of  the  gate. 

A  figure  was  standing  there,  and  in  the  first 
glance  Seebar  recognized  Jake,  the  hired  man. 
He  was  leaning  on  the  gate,  his  hands  on  the 
pointed  palings,  chin  on  knuckles.  A  wooden 
pipe,  from  which  at  intervals  he  emitted  a  little 
burst  of  smoke,  was  loosely  held  between  the  lips. 
His  eyes  were  curious  and  half-hostile. 


86          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  Hello,  Jake,  how  are  you  ?  "  was  Seebar's 
greeting,  and  he  descended  from  the  motor  car, 
stepping  carefully  across  a  little  patch  of  water 
in  the  road,  trace  of  a  recent  rain,  and  reached 
out  his  hand. 

The  man's  lips  began  to  set  over  the  stem  of 
his  pipe,  and  the  lines  of  his  open,  sun-browned 
face  to  grow  hard.  His  eyes  ranged  coolly  over 
Seebar,  and  then  with  a  calmness  born  of  peaceful 
days  and  well-slept  nights,  he  leisurely  removed 
the  pipe  from  his  lips,  knocked  out  the  ashes  on 
the  gatepost,  and,  with  the  words,  "  No,  thank 
you,  you  may  be  the  boss's  nephew,  but  I'll  be 
damned  if  I'll  shake  hands  with  a  Socialist," 
turned  away  deliberately,  and  calmly  shuffled  off, 
leaving  Seebar,  surprised  and  a  bit  mortified,  to 
open  the  gate  for  himself. 

He  went  around  to  the  back  door  and  paused 
as  he  was  about  to  knock.  He  could  hear  some 
one  within,  moving  about  briskly,  singing  in  a 
high-keyed,  feminine  voice. 

He  half-smiled.     "  Martha,"  he  said  to  him- 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  87 

self,  and  the  old  housekeeper's  hospitable,  earnest 
face,  looking  just  as  it  was  wont  to  do  when  she 
was  urging  upon  him  another  quarter  of  one  of 
her  mince  pies,  came  before  him. 

The  sun  shone  warmly  on  the  doorstep,  and  a 
sleek  black  cat  came  and  arched  its  back  against 
his  legs,  blinking  at  him  with  sleepy  yellow  eyes, 
and  purring  enthusiastically. 

This  last  Seebar  took  as  an  auspicious  sign. 

"  Of  course  she'll  be  glad  to  see  me,"  he  em 
boldened  himself  by  saying. 

From  inside  came  the  swish  of  water  and  the 
rattle  of  dishes.  Still  the  high-pitched  song  went 
on. 

He  knocked;  the  singing  stopped.  Then  came 
a  final  swish.  A  moment's  silence  followed,  and 
all  at  once  Seebar  was  looking  up  into  Martha's 
eyes.  The  smile  of  greeting  half-formed  froze 
on  the  round,  plump  face.  For  a  moment  she 
stared  her  astonishment. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  impudent "  she  began, 

and  then,  apparently  fully  recovering  herself, 


88          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

abruptly  banged  shut  the  door.  Very  distinctly 
the  key  clicked  in  the  lock. 

"  This  beats  me,"  muttered  Seebar.  He  was 
no  longer  amused,  as  he  had  been  by  Jake's  atti 
tude.  He  felt  hurt.  "  What  kind  of  a  brigand 
do  they  take  me  for,  anyway?  I  hope  Uncle 
Dick " 

But  some  one  was  rushing  toward  him  with 
outstretched  arms,  a  look  of  eager,  unfeigned 
welcome  on  his  face.  "  Why,  Alfred,  my  boy," 
exclaimed  Uncle  Richard,  grasping  both  of  See- 
bar's  hands  in  his,  in  a  hearty  grip,  "  how  are 
you?  How  does  it  seem  to  be  a  big  man?" 

"  Well,  I  have  my  doubts  as  to  whether  I  am 
a  big  man.  That  depends  somewhat  on  the  point 
of  view.  Now  Jake  there,"  and  Seebar  pointed 
to  where  the  hired  man  stood,  loitering  uncom 
promisingly,  in  the  shadow  of  the  barns,  "  thinks 
I'm  wholly  unworthy  of  his  friendship,  and  as 
for  Martha,  she  seems  to  fear  me  as  much  as  if 
I  were  one  of  the  tramps  of  the  old  days  we  read 
about." 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  89 

"  I'm  sorry,  Alfred,  my  boy,  sorry  that  you've 
been  treated  like  this,  I  am  indeed."  Mr.  Tomp- 
kins'  gentle  old  face  kindled  with  sympathy. 
"  But  you  mustn't  mind  it,  my  boy.  They'll 
come  'round  all  right.  They're  just  a  bit 
prejudiced  against  the  Socialists,  because, — well, 
you  see,  the  government  has  requested  me  to  give 
up  my  little  place.  We're  going  to  have  a  general 
home  for  a  dozen  families  'round  here,  a  sort 
of  farmer's  hotel,  or  country  resort,  you  see.  No 
more  loneliness  on  long  winter  evenings — always 
company,  always  cheerfulness  and  happiness.  It 
will  sort  of  break  the  monotony  of  our  lives." 

Though  his  uncle  spoke  in  a  cheery,  bantering 
tone,  Seebar  caught  the  note  of  keen  regret  at 
leaving  the  old  place,  and  his  heart  went  out  to 
him.  But  what  could  he  say  by  way  of  comfort  ? 
Nothing!  A  leader  of  the  movement  which,  as 
one  of  its  incidental  consequences,  deprived  the 
old  man  of  his  home,  Seebar  felt  that  any  words 
of  sympathy  were  as  the  tears  of  the  crocodile. 

They  were  following  a  winding  path  out  past 


9o          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

plum  trees  in  full,  strong-scented  bloom.  As 
Seebar  stepped  behind  his  uncle,  he  observed  the 
old  man's  broad  back,  somewhat  bent,  the  slight 
shuffle  in  his  gait,  the  wrinkles  of  age  creasing 
his  neck,  browned  by  sun  and  wind,  the  little  tuft 
of  hair  on  his  bared  gray  head,  fluttering  in  the 
breeze  in  an  oddly  whimsical  curl,  and  his  sense 
of  regret  became  doubly  poignant. 

For  Seebar  was  a  sentimentalist  and  idealist,  a 
dreamer,  full  of  quick  sympathies,  and  yet  a  prac 
tical  dreamer.  He  was  capable  of  putting  his 
dreams  into  execution,  as  his  nomination  and 
election  proved;  likewise  he  was  capable  of  sub 
ordinating  personal  feelings  to  his  dreams,  as 
when  he  broke  off  relations  with  Dorothy  Mark- 
ham.  And  now,  while  he  reflected  how  his  uncle 
had  paid  for  his  education,  and  had  done  a  thou 
sand  and  one  other  kindnesses,  not  all  material 
kindnesses  either,  his  conscience  was  perfectly  at 
ease.  He  felt  the  quick  sympathy  of  the  surgeon 
for  the  suffering  he  was  inflicting,  but  felt  that 
it  was  for  the  good  of  the  body, — the  public 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  91 

body.  Accordingly,  while  his  heart  bled  for  his 
Uncle  Dick,  he  did  not  regret  even  so  much  as  for 
a  single  instant  the  success  of  the  grand  scheme 
itself. 

It  seemed  a  pity,  though,  that  the  plan  should 
work  such  hardship  in  individual  cases,  and  he 
wondered  if  the  drastic  steps  that  were  being 
taken  in  reapportioning  the  farm  lands  were  at 
all  necessary.  It  all  smacked  somewhat  of  re 
taliation  for  the  well-nigh  complete  Anti-Social 
istic  vote  the  rural  districts  had  cast. 

"  I'm  going  to  show  you  my  chickens,"  said 
Uncle  Richard,  stopping  and  facing  about.  "  I've 
had  unusually  good  luck  this  year,  and  I'm 
mighty  glad  of  it,  too.  It  won't  do  me  any  good 
financially,  but  it  makes  a  fellow  feel  sort  of 
pleasant  to  know  that  even  the  chickens  seem  to 
appreciate  it's  their  last  chance  to  make  a  show 
ing.  Then,  if  the  signs  are  right,  we're  going  to 
have  a  mighty  big  crop  of  fruit  this  year — just 
see  those  blossoms,  just  smell  them!  It's  shady 
here  with  them,  and  the  leaves  are  only  just  be- 


92          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

ginning  to  shoot.  And  listen  to  how  the  bees  are 
humming.  They're  just  drunk  with  the  richness 
of  it.  If  Maria  had  only  lived  to  see  this,  but 
then,  if  she  had  lived,  she'd  have  hated  to  leave 
it  all." 

Somehow  Seebar  felt  a  tightness  about  the 
throat.  "  When  do  you  expect — when  are  you 
going  to  move?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  till  fall,  at  the  very  earliest,  perhaps  not 
till  next  spring.  As  I  understand  it,  they  are  find 
ing  it  rather  hard  to  make  things  operate." 

They  were  at  the  poultry  yard  now,  and  Uncle 
Dick  had  thrown  open  the  gate  to  admit  Seebar. 
The  place  was  full  of  clucking  hens,  each  with 
her  little  brood  of  black  or  yellow  chicks,  that 
skurried  and  hung  about  her  like  a  swarm  of 
merchant  vessels  about  their  convoy. 

"  Three  hundred  and  fifty  of  them,"  said  Uncle 
Dick,  proudly,  "  and  I  don't  use  incubators.  I'm 
a  quarter  of  a  century  behind  the  times  in  this 
respect;  at  any  rate,  so  my  neighbors  tell  me,  but 
the  results  are  quite  satisfactory." 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  93 

Over  his  broad-brimmed  spectacles  he  smiled 
upon  Seebar,  all  aglow  with  a  simple  pride. 

"  Three  hundred  and  fifty  of  them,"  he  re 
peated;  "yes,  it's  going  to  be  a  great  year — a 
year  of  plenty." 

Certainly  the  new  order  of  things  would  take 
much  of  the  simple  sweetness  out  of  life.  The 
quiet  country  home  soon  would  be  a  thing  of 
the  past.  In  its  place  was  to  come  a  huge  estate 
to  which  were  to  be  applied  the  principles  of  com 
mercial  big-scale  production.  The  farmer  was 
no  longer  to  be  an  independent  man,  planting  and 
reaping  for  himself  in  the  old  way,  but  was  to 
become  a  hireling,  his  individuality  merged 
largely  into  the  interests  of  a  group. 

"  The  great  economic  changes  have  always 
wrought  temporary  hardship,"  reflected  Seebar. 
"  The  English  industrial  revolution  bringing  in 
the  factory  system,  in  the  early  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  that  threw  multitudes  out  of 
employment,  the  trust  organizations  of  the  nine 
teenth  and  twentieth  centuries,  that  crushed  out 


94          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  small  competitor — these,  so  terrible  during 
the  transition  period,  ultimately  proved  bless- 
ings." 

And  so  he  consoled  himself  with  a  mathe 
matical  proposition  that  the  whole  is  greater  than 
any  of  its  parts,  and  applied  this  to  the  welfare 
of  society  as  against  the  welfare  of  the  individual. 

Uncle  Dick  was  now  leading  him  back  to  the 
house.  "  The  one  thing  I  don't  feel  quite  right 
about,"  he  was  saying,  "  is  that  they  are  going 
to  remove  this  house.  It's  a  small  affair,  and 
doesn't  fit  in  with  present  economic  plans.  Now 
that's  all  very  well,  but  don't  you  think  we  Social 
ists  are  getting  a  bit  too  materialistic  ?  Isn't  there 
something  more  in  life  than  sweeping  aside  every 
thing  for  material  progress  ?  " 

And  then  seeing  the  look  of  positive  pain  in 
Seebar's  eyes,  he  added,  clapping  his  nephew  on 
the  shoulder,  "  Well,  never  mind,  my  boy,  you're 
not  to  blame,  so  don't  take  it  to  heart.  Come, 
let's  make  friends  now  with  Martha  and  Jake." 

Already  Martha  had  abandoned  her  attitude  of 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  95 

defiance;  there  was  a  softened  light  in  her  eye 
as  she  turned  her  gaze  upon  the  pair  for  an  in 
stant,  and  then  quietly  resumed  her  household 
duties,  interrupted  for  the  moment  by  their  en 
trance. 

"  Martha,  aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  Al 
fred?"  Uncle  Dick  inquired  in  solicitous  tones. 
There  was  a  faint  gleam  of  humor  in  his  eye, 
however,  as  he  put  the  question.  Evidently  he 
was  thoroughly  familiar  with  Martha's  ways. 

She  did  not  appear  to  hear  him. 

"A  little  deaf  at  times,  Alfred,"  said  Uncle 
Dick;  "a  little  absent-minded,  too.  Sometimes 
I'm  afraid  she's  losing  her  memory.  She's  been 
with  me  two  years  now,  and  when  she  came  she 
was  that  lively  and  chipper !  But  she's  aging  fast, 
now;  yes,  she's  aging  fast.  It's  such  a  pity,  too."  . 

Martha  raised  the  lids  of  her  eyes  just  long 
enough  to  shoot  an  indignant  look  at  Uncle  Dick. 

He  seemed  unconscious  of  this. 

"  So  you  mustn't  mind  it,  Alfred,"  he  went  on 
smoothly,  "  if  she  seems  to  act  queer.  Memory 


96          The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

for  faces  gone,  you  know — just  a  wee  bit  scared 
of  strangers  too,  apparently." 

Martha  gave  him  another  look,  a  look  in  which 
fire  danced. 

Uncle  Dick  lowered  his  voice.  "  Not  so  deaf 
as  I  thought,  I  guess.  Might  have  heard  that 
last,  don't  you  think?  She's  mighty  sensitive 
about  her  infirmities." 

But  Martha  could  stand  no  more.  "  Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself,  Mr.  Richard  Tompkins,  talk 
ing  about  me  like  that — and  me  only  thirty-eight 
years  old,  and  been  a  widow  these  three  years, 
going  on  four  now,  with  little  Josie  there, — ain't 
you  ashamed  of  yourself?  " 

Uncle  Dick  completely  ignored  the  outburst. 
He  seemed  absolutely  unruffled. 

"  Of  course,  Martha,  you  remember  Alfred," 
he  answered.  "  Says  he  didn't  get  that  last  batch 
of  mince  pies  we  promised  to  send  him.  It's  such 
a  pity,  too,  because  you  know  how  fond  Alfred 
has  always  been  of  your  mince  pies." 

To  Seebar's  amused  eyes  it  was  evident  from 


A  Peculiar  Welcome  97 

Martha's  hesitating,  indecisive  attitude  that  this 
subtle  flattery  mingled  with  the  undercurrent  of 
appeal  had  touched  her;  and  that,  moreover,  she 
was  already  ashamed  of  her  outburst. 

But  she  was  not  quite  ready  to  "  make  up." 

It  remained  for  Josie,  Martha's  five-year-old 
girl,  to  re-cement  the  broken  bonds  of  friendship. 
Coming  dashing  into  the  kitchen,  round-eyed,  her 
head  a  mass  of  dark  tangled  curls,  suddenly  she 
paused  and  then  began  to  draw  back,  somewhat 
fearfully,  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  with  a  look 
of  mingled  wonder  and  dismay. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  Soc'awist !  Jake  says  he  is."  And 
then,  having  regained  the  door,  she  turned  and  fled. 

Seebar  laughed,  while  Uncle  Dick  burst  into  a 
hearty  roar. 

Martha's  eyes  were  alight  with  motherly  love 

and  pride.  "  Now  isn't  she  the  cutest "  she 

began. 

But  a  huge  guffaw  just  outside  the  kitchen  door 
smothered  all  other  sounds.  And  there  stood 
Jake,  shaking  all  over  with  mirth. 


98  The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  Oh,  you  rascal,  you  rascal,"  exclaimed  Uncle 
Richard,  "  to  put  Josie  up  to  such  tricks.  Come 
forward  now  like  a  man  and  shake  hands  with 
Alfred.  He  hasn't  changed  a  bit,  Jake,  just  the 
same  boy  he  always  was — to  me.  And  you'll  find 
him  the  same,  too." 

Jake  shuffled  in,  a  trifle  clumsily,  but  Seebar 
could  see  that  this  was  due  to  embarrassment 
rather  than  to  any  ill-will  toward  himself. 

An  awkward  pause  was  broken  by  Martha 
saying  timidly,  "  Alfred,  I've  got  some  mince 
pies — if  you're  a  bit  hungry." 

She  waited  anxiously. 

"  Why,  surely,  Martha,  thank  you,"  Seebar 
responded  heartily.  "  And  come  to  think  of  it  I 
haven't  had  anything  to  eat  since  early  this  morn 
ing.  But  let's  find  little  Josie,  and  make  friends 
with  her  once  more,  too." 

It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  that  Seebar  spent 
on  his  uncle's  farm — indeed  for  many  a  week 
afterward  whenever  he  reflected  upon  that  after 
noon  it  was  with  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  MARKHAMS  COME  TO  TOWN 

TN  spite  of  the  defiant  attitude  that  Dorothy 
Markham  had  assumed  toward  Seebar,  it 
was  with  a  pang  of  utter  isolation  and  loneliness 
that  she  saw  his  broad  shoulders  swing  from 
sight  behind  the  pillars  of  the  subway  station 
where  he  had  left  her  and  her  father  after  con 
ducting  them  thither.  She  felt  that,  regardless  of 
the  part  he  had  played  in  helping  to  bring  about 
the  fatal  new  era,  still  he  was  the  one  connecting 
link  with  the  past.  Seebar  had  offered  to  ac 
company  them  to  the  city  to  see  them  safely 
settled  in  the  quarters  assigned  them,  and  Doro 
thy  already  regretted  she  had  not  accepted  this 
offer.  Yet  she  felt  no  gratitude  toward  him  for 
his  assistance.  Indeed,  as  she  turned  to  her 
father  sitting  so  unwontedly  silent  and  subdued, 
she  felt  very  certain  that  she  hated  Seebar. 

99 


ioo        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

The  wheels  of  the  car  began  to  slip  and  turn 
on  the  single  rail,  and  as  the  speed  increased, 
they  presently  broke  forth  into  a  rich,  vibrant, 
penetrating  purr.  In  the  ride's  brief  duration,  a 
multitude  of  thoughts  had  time  to  crowd  through 
Dorothy's  brain,  and  Seebar  formed  the  nucleus 
of  them  all.  She  remembered  only  too  well  the 
first  time  she  had  met  him.  Her  father  had  in 
troduced  him  as  a  practising  lawyer,  the  son  of 
his  old  friend,  Henry  Seebar,  the  financier.  Aris 
ing  from  his  chair  he  had  loomed  up  tall,  of  good 
figure,  with  clear,  earnest  eyes.  His  was  a  com 
pelling  personality,  and  Dorothy  had  been  drawn 
to  him  as  she  had  never  before  been  drawn  to 
any  man.  His  political  doctrines  had  both  in 
terested  and  amused  her.  This,  following  the 
suggestion  of  her  father,  she  had  believed  to  be 
the  one  insincere  note  in  the  man.  Why,  she  had 
no  particular  reason  for  saying,  except  as  she 
had  once  naively  admitted,  it  was  incredible  that 
a  man  of  his  birth  and  position  should  be  a  So 
cialist.  If,  however,  she  had  asked  herself  why 


The  Markhams  Come  to  Town      101 

this  was  incredible  she  could  not  have  answered. 
Many  men  of  birth  and  wealth  were  in  the  ranks 
of  the  Socialists. 

He  had,  too,  the  dramatic  instinct  of  the  public 
speaker.  By  Dorothy  and  her  father,  Seebar's 
espousal  of  Socialism  had  been  regarded  merely 
as  a  pose.  His  speech  in  the  Convention  and 
subsequent  nomination  had  come  as  a  thunder 
clap  to  both.  It  was  this  underlying  sense  of  the 
dramatic — his  egotism  and  vanity,  Faverall 
Markham  called  it, — that  Dorothy  believed  had 
carried  Seebar  beyond  his  purpose.  If  he  really 
loved  her,  she  reasoned,  how  could  it  be  possible 
that  he  would  follow  a  course  that  must  inevitably 
wound  and  crush  her  ?  She  decided  that  he  had 
temporarily  lost  his  head  and  that  his  ambitious 
vanity  would  not  permit  him  to  recant.  She  too 
had  had  her  ambition, — her  ambition  to  be  an 
artist, — and  yet  how  cheerfully,  even  how  gladly, 
had  she  looked  forward  to  abandoning  a  career 
for  the  man  she  loved !  Looking  back  over  it  all, 
she  thought  it  strangely  unreal  that  the  Seebar 


The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

she  had  known,  despite  his  ambition,  could  have 
acted  as  he  had. 

But  dislike,  hate  him,  as  she  believed  she  did, 
still,  as  the  train  began  to  slow  down,  once  more 
she  wished  that  she  had  not  so  summarily  dis 
missed  him.  She  shrank  from  applying  for  the 
quarters  assigned  them  in  the  municipal  apart 
ment  building,  the  Pelion. 

Their  station  was  just  north  of  the  Chicago 
River,  and  to  Dorothy's  thinking  they  arrived 
too  soon.  Presently  they  had  stepped  into  one 
of  the  many  elevators  that  served  the  purpose  of 
conveying  passengers  to  and  from  the  mono-rail 
subway,  and  were  on  the  street  level,  in  the  station 
building. 

From  the  open  side  of  the  structure,  facing 
toward  the  river  on  the  south,  they  could  see  the 
same  city,  the  city  of  uproar  and  seeming  con 
fusion.  For  the  moment,  sequestered  as  she  had 
been  this  many  a  day,  Dorothy  felt  a  leaping  of 
the  heart  at  the  stir  of  life  about  her.  Then 
again  came  the  depression — a  feeling  mingled 


The  Markhams  Come  to  Town     103 

almost  with  terror,  at  the  thought  of  becoming  a 
part  of  this  life. 

And  still  it  was  not  the  same  city.  There  was  a 
leisure  in  the  bearing  of  those  who  passed  that 
was  perplexing.  The  tumult  and  hum  that  had 
made  Chicago  famous  for  three-quarters  of  a 
century  as  the  city  of  incontinent  speed  had  not 
vanished.  But  the  people  themselves  no  longer 
made  haste.  The  absence  of  the  stimulus  of 
competition  had  begun  to  show  its  effects  in  the 
slowing  up  in  speed.  But  it  was  the  same  old 
throng,  after  all,  the  same  faces  of  hope  and 
contentment,  of  care  and  anxiety. 

Mr.  Markham  stood  silent.  The  life  streaming 
before  him  apparently  evoked  in  him  but  little 
interest.  Dorothy,  timidly  clutching  his  coat 
sleeve,  was  becoming  alarmed.  Her  father 
seemed  dazed,  stunned  by  all  that  had  happened. 
Occasionally  she  addressed  him,  but  his  vague  re 
plies  showed  how  heedless  he  was  of  her  words. 
She  had  always  been  sheltered,  always  protected 
from  the  realities  of  life  as  only  the  wealthy,  in- 


IO4         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

dulgent  American  fathers  had  known  how  to 
weaken  and  spoil  their  daughters.  And  now  her 
father,  who  had  always  stood  between  her  and 
fact,  had  himself  that  morning  suddenly  become 
as  a  child.  He  was  not  dejected,  apparently.  It 
was  a  strange  abstraction  that  seemed  to  have  left 
him  helpless,  like  a  lost  bird  in  a  hostile  region. 
And  in  the  midst  of  her  troubles  and  perplexities 
Dorothy  felt  a  pang  of  heart-ache,  almost  of  ter 
ror  even,  at  the  thought  that  perhaps  her  father's 
spirit  was  already  crushed. 

For  ten  minutes  perhaps  did  they  thus  remain. 
Then  Dorothy  turned  to  one  of  the  government 
railway  employees  standing  near,  and  timidly  en 
quired  concerning  an  electric  cab. 

"Cab?"  he  repeated.  "Oh,  my  dear  young 
lady,  they're  things  of  the  past.  It's  either  walk, 
or  take  an  overhead,  or  the  local  subway." 

There  was  an  easy  familiarity  in  the  man's 
bearing  that  caused  Dorothy  to  shrink  back.  In 
the  past,  her  quiet,  well-bred  manner  had  in 
variably  elicited  deference.  She  could  not  bring 


The  Markhams  Come  to  Town     105 

herself,  as  yet,  to  a  realization  of  what  their 
new  status  with  relation  to  society  really  meant. 

On  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  they  halted, 
Dorothy  clinging  closer  still  to  her  father.  She 
was  afraid  now  to  ask  any  one  for  directions. 
Vaguely  she  remembered  Seebar's  saying  that 
the  Pelion  was  in  the  old  "  Loop  District." 
That  was  immediately  south  of  the  river,  in  area 
about  a  square  mile.  Once  more  how  she  did  long 
for  Seebar! 

People  slowly  eddied  about  them  in  a  leisurely 
holiday  fashion,  and  still  she  feared  to  trust  her 
self  in  the  slow-flowing  current. 

Then,  almost  before  she  knew  it,  they  had 
stepped  from  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  station, 
and  they  were  walking  toward  one  of  the  many 
bridges  that  spanned  the  North  Branch  of  the 
Chicago  River. 

With  a  score  of  subways  connecting,  under 
neath  this  river,  the  north  and  middle  sections  of 
the  city,  Chicago  was  still  obliged  to  employ  the 
old  time  bascule  or  "  jack-knife  "  bridges  in  order 


106        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

to  accommodate  the  enormous  press  of  traffic  that 
found  itself  crowded  out  of  the  jammed  subways 
and  overhead  roads — bridges  that  split  in  two 
in  the  middle  and  heaved  up  to  allow  the  huge 
turbine-driven  boats  to  find  egress  to  the  Great 
Lakes,  then  down  the  Great  Canal  and  Mississippi 
River  to  New  Orleans  and  the  Gulf,  outward 
bound  for  the  ports  of  the  world.  The  pair  were 
obliged  to  stop  for  a  few  minutes  while  an  enor 
mous  craft  slowly  and  silently  nosed  her  way 
through,  leaving  behind  a  great  swish  of  waves 
that  beat  sullenly  against  the  concrete-built 
banks.  Then  the  heavy  floors  of  the  bridge,  low 
ered  into  place,  rattled  together,  and  once  more 
traffic,  still  in  the  same  bewilderingly  easy-going 
fashion,  resumed  its  interrupted  flow  across,  and 
Dorothy  and  her  father  were  slowly  wafted  with 
the  current. 

It  was  a  curious  thing  on  passing  shop  after 
shop  to  see  them  empty.  Moreover,  the  pave 
ments  did  not  present  their  accustomed  sight  of 
activity.  The  pleasure  and  delivery  automobiles 


The  Markhams  Come  to  Town     107 

were  gone.  Only  motor  trucks  laden  with  build 
ing  material  passed  along. 

As  they  entered  into  what  had  been  the 
heart  of  the  business  district,  the  way  became 
almost  blocked  with  the  piles  of  steel  beams  and 
concrete  material.  The  windows  of  the  great 
buildings  swarmed  with  workmen.  It  was  all 
strange,  puzzling,  bewildering. 

But  where  was  the  Pelion;  in  which  street  of 
the  many  streets  in  that  square  mile;  which  of 
the  many  buildings  in  that  street?  Then  at  a 
street  crossing,  the  two  ran  square  into  a  tall 
red-coated  policeman.  This  was  their  salvation. 
The  officer's  white-gloved  fingers  pointed  out  the 
building  they  sought.  The  Pelion  was  close  at 
hand,  but  a  square  and  a  half  away. 


CHAPTER  VII 
AT  THE  PELION 

/~\  N  the  morning  of  the  particular  spring  day 
on  which  these  events  were  occurring, 
Henry  Bornheim  lounged  in  one  of  the  big  public 
waiting  rooms  of  the  Municipal  Administration 
Building.  He  had  gone  late  to  bed  the  night 
before,  as  was  his  custom,  and,  as  was  his  cus 
tom  also,  he  had  breakfasted  late,  at  the  Pelion, 
where  he  had  his  quarters. 

An  easy-going  man  was  Henry  Bornheim, — a 
firm  believer  in  the  luxuries,  pleasures,  and  ir 
responsibilities  of  life.  In  the  campaign  he  had 
worked  hard,  as  politicians  count  work.  Now  he 
was  enjoying  the  fruits  of  his  industry.  He  was 
a  handsome  man,  polished,  as  well  read  in  life  as 
in  literature,  of  considerable  adaptability  in  his 
intercourse  with  persons. 

This  morning  he  sat  leisurely  perusing  a  copy 
108 


At  the  Pelion  109 

of  the  government  newspaper  till  such  time  as 
he  chose  to  repair  to  his  office  upstairs. 

In  the  corner  a  telegraph  instrument  was  click 
ing  briskly,  and  the  clerk  had  sent  a  boy  upstairs 
with  a  message  from  over  the  wire.  Presently 
the  boy  returned. 

"  Mr.  Lessing's  not  there,"  he  announced. 

Bornheim  looked  up.  "  What  is  it — a  telegram 
for  Lessing?"  he  asked.  "I'll  receive  it  for 
him,"  and  he  reached  out  his  hand. 

He  read  the  yellow  slip  of  paper  once  hastily 
and  carefully  a  second  time. 

Meet  Markham  and  daughter  at  North  State 
Subway  Station  at  once.  Conduct  them  to 

Pelion. 

SEEBAR. 

"  Humph,"  muttered  Bornheim.  "  Seebar's 
acting  the  Providential,  and  looking  after  the 
fallen  sparrows,  is  he?  Lessing  not  being  here 
I  might  as  well  act  the  guardian  angel  myself." 

Then  he  once  more   inspected  the  telegram. 


no         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  Dated  nearly  an  hour  ago.  I  guess  I'll  just 
walk  over  to  the  Pelion." 

And  so  it  happened  that,  owing  to  their  long 
delay  in  the  station,  a  moment  after  Dorothy  and 
her  father  had  entered  the  Pelion,  Bornheim 
also  had  stepped  in  under  the  arched  fagade  of 
the  building. 

Women  were  idling  about  on  the  easy  chairs 
and  rockers  that  strewed  the  long  hall  and  the 
adjacent  rooms  that  opened  upon  it,  and  children 
played  about  everywhere. 

As  Bornheim's  eye  wandered  over  the  scene 
before  him  his  attention  was  drawn  to  an  elderly 
man  in  company  with  a  young  woman  of  some 
twenty-four  or  -five,  who  was  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation  with  one  of  the  housekeepers,  as 
the  male  heads  of  the  establishment  were  called. 
He  recognized  the  elderly  man  as  Faverall  Mark- 
ham,  and  surmised  that  his  companion  must  be 
his  daughter. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Bornheim  could  hear  the  house 
keeper  say,  as  he  drew  nearer,  "  but  if  you 


At  the  Pelion  in 

haven't  your  ticket  to  present,  I  can't  assign  you 
to  your  quarters." 

"  But — but — — "  and  Dorothy  turned  about  as 
if  for  aid  somewhere  in  that  dawdling  as 
semblage. 

"  If  this  is  Miss  Markham  perhaps  I  can  help 
you,"  began  Bornheim.  His  eyes  rested  on  her 
erect,  supple,  yet  somewhat  full,  figure. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dorothy  doubtfully,  "  yes." 

"  Well,"  continued  Bornheim,  "  I  have  here  a 
telegram  from  Mr.  Seebar,  directing  me  to  see 
you  safely  established  in  the  Pelion."  And  he 
turned  and  whispered  a  few  words  to  the  house 
keeper. 

"  It's  all  right,  I  guess,  Miss  Markham,"  said 
that  functionary;  "we're  giving  you  a  pretty 
good  place  on  the  third  floor,"  and  turning  to  a 
safe  behind  him  he  threw  it  open  and  from  a 
great  row  of  shining  keys  that  dangled,  jingling 
tunefully  as  he  tapped  the  row,  he  selected  one 
and  passed  it  over  the  counter  to  Dorothy. 

She  drew  a  heavy  sigh  of  relief.     "  May  I 


iia        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

not  know  whom  I  have  to  thank  ?  "  she  said.  "  It 
has  all  been  so  terrible,  this  being  driven  from 
one's  home,  and  the  insolence  of  the  people.  And 
my  father  seems  so  different,  and  indeed  every 
thing  is  so  different " 

It  was  with  difficulty  she  was  keeping  back 
her  tears. 

When  they  stepped  out  of  the  elevator  on  the 
third  floor,  and  Bornheim  had  unlocked  the  door 
to  the  apartments  of  father  and  daughter,  it  was 
natural  enough  that  Dorothy,  in  her  isolation  and 
fear  and  gratitude,  should  ask  Bornheim  to  stay 
a  moment. 

The  apartment  that  had  been  assigned  them 
was  quite  pleasant.  There  were  four  rooms  in 
all,  and  two  of  these  looked  out  upon  the  street. 
Bornheim  told  them  there  were  a  thousand 
families  in  the  building. 

"  The  Pelion  is  really  a  great  hotel ! "  he 
explained,  inwardly  admiring  the  girl's  rich 
beauty  as  he  talked.  "  The  cooking  for  all  is 
done  in  the  kitchen,  and  one  may  have  meals 


At  the  Pelion  113 

served  either  in  his  own  apartments  or  in  the 
common  dining  halls.  Most  people  prefer  the  lat 
ter.  The  government  takes  its  pay  for  rent,  cook 
ing,  food,  laundry,  services,  etc.,  from  the  pay  of 
each  head  of  a  family." 

"  But  all  the  shops  seem  to  be  closed.  What 
do  people  do  for  a  living?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

Bornheim  laughed,  while  heedful  of  the  dark 
blue  of  her  eyes  which  in  her  earnestness  took  on 
a  violet  tinge.  "  Why,  we  have  shut  down  all 
the  small  places.  All  retail  selling  is  done  on 
the  department  store  plan.  The  senseless  com 
petition  of  a  multitude  of  small  shops  was  a 
crime, — as,  in  fact,  is  all  competition.  Co-opera 
tion  and  consolidation  are  the  watchwords. 
Think  how  men  wasted  their  energies  in  useless 
labor  under  the  old  regime.  Why,  we've  got  rid 
of  an  army  of  traveling  salesmen,  clerks  in  shops, 
advertisement  writers,  bill-board  posters,  office 
forces,  credit  men,  commercial  buyers,  cashiers, 
drivers  of  delivery  wagons,  bankers,  real  estate 
agents,  stock  exchange  and  board  of  trade  men, 


U4        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

some  doctors,  all  ministers,  stenographers,  ship 
ping  clerks,  mail  order  houses,  chauffeurs, — well, 
that's  just  a  few,  but  it  will  give  you  an  idea. 
Now  these  men  are  turning  their  energies  to 
something  really  productive.  We've  an  enormous 
army  of  men  at  work  turning  the  big  office 
buildings  to  their  new  uses.  Every  one  is  busy. 
There  is  scarcely  an  idle  man  in  Chicago  to-day." 

Dorothy  recalled  the  unwonted  building 
activity  that  had  puzzled  her,  and  began  to  under 
stand  what  it  all  meant. 

"  And — and  father,"  her  voice  lowered,  as  she 
cast  a  glance  toward  the  old  man  gazing  abstract 
edly  out  of  the  window,  at  which  he  was  seated : 
"  will  he  have  to  go  to  work? " 

Bornheim  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair.  The 
question  was  fired  straight  at  him.  Behind  it 
were  leveled  a  pair  of  serious,  truth-compelling 
eyes. 

"  Miss  Markham,  I  will  be  frank  with  you," 
said  he,  with  no  attempt  at  evasion.  "  Under 
the  present  system  all  men  are  expected  to  work. 


At  the  Pelion  115 

Labor,  even  with  the  hands,  is  considered  more 
honorable  than  the  idleness  of  the  wealthy  in  the 
old  days.  Personal  worth,  reputation,  is  to  take 
the  place  of  money." 

If  Seebar  had  been  there  to  hear  these  words 
he  would  have  smiled — smiled  derisively  at  Born- 
heim,  the  skeptical  materialist,  talking  in  this  vein. 

But  Dorothy,  as  women  often  are,  was  in 
sistently  practical.  "  Yes,  but  what  can  father 
do?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Yes,  what  can  I  do  ?  "  And  Faverall  Mark- 
ham  had  turned,  from  gazing  out  of  the  window, 
in  his  old  firm,  aggressive  way  upon  Bornheim. 

Steeled  as  he  had  been  for  the  adverse  verdict 
of  the  courts,  the  decree  of  expulsion,  neverthe 
less,  had  come  as  a  severe  blow.  And  then  the 
eviction  itself  following  hard  upon  this  judicial 
decision  had  for  the  time  being  left  him  adrift 
and  bewildered.  His  business  gone,  his  home 
gone,  a  new  and  strange  economic  and  political 
system  suddenly  forced  upon  him,  in  which  none 
of  his  past  experiences  or  achievements  availed 


ii6        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

him  aught — all  this  left  him  as  helpless  as  a 
pauper  in  an  alien  land.  The  power  to  direct 
men  taken  from  him,  his  place  in  society  now  of 
no  more  significance  than  that  of  the  veriest 
laborer,  he  temporarily  crouched  like  a  lion  de 
prived  of  his  teeth  and  claws. 

The  readjustment  was  easier  for  Dorothy  than 
for  her  father.  She  was  young,  she  was  a 
woman,  unfamiliar  with  the  intricacies  of  com 
mercialism.  She  was  indeed  bewildered,  but  not 
in  the  harsh,  cruel  way  that  the  Great  Change 
bewildered  her  father. 

This  last  hour  and  a  half  he  had  been  reviewing 
the  situation.  Time  and  again  in  the  past  he 
had  faced  great  crises  in  the  business  world. 
Often  these  crises  were  of  a  character  that  had 
never  before  confronted  him.  Still  they  were 
only  variations  of  the  game — the  great  game  of 
business.  They  were  like  new  combinations  in 
chess,  but  with  shrewd  calculation  could  be  suc 
cessfully  met  by  applying  the  knowledge  of  the 
game  learned  in  the  past.  But  here  the  conditions 


At  the  Pelion  117 

were  different,  the  game  itself  absolutely  new. 
He  could  see  no  solution  of  the  problem.  His 
mind  was  driven  back  upon  itself,  baffled. 

And  now  as  the  old  man  felt  himself  helpless 
and  at  bay,  it  was  with  a  fierceness  that  was  dis 
concerting  that  he  turned  upon  Bornheim,  with 
the  question,  "  What  can  I  do?  " 

Bornheim  was  silent. 

"What  can  I  do?"  the  old  man  repeated. 
"  What  can  any  man  do  at  fifty-nine?" 

"  All  men  of  sixty-five  are  to  be  pensioned/' 
Bornheim  replied;  "perhaps  sooner,"  he  added, 
rather  lamely. 

"  And  until  I  can  become  a  state  pauper  what 
am  I  to  do?  Dig  ditches,  clean  manholes? 
What?" 

"  I  should  think  your  knowledge  of  the  steel 
industry  would  stand  you  in  good  stead." 

"  Knowledge  of  markets,  knowledge  of  organi 
zations,  of  the  industry  count  for  nothing,  now, 
no,  not  the  snap  of  a  finger.  And  I  understand," 
he  went  on,  "  that  your  superintendents  and  fore- 


n8        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

men  are  elected  by  the  workmen  of  a  plant  from 
among  themselves.  I  must  go  to  work  as  a  com 
mon  laborer  or  a  mere  clerk.  I  built  up  the 
Western  Steel  Company.  I  was  a  laborer  to 
begin  with.  I  know  what  it  is  to  swing  pots  of 
molten  steel.  I  discovered  new  methods  in  the 
furnace  processes.  That  was  my  start.  It  has 
been  the  task  of  a  life-time  to  build  up  this  busi 
ness.  We  have  had  a  tremendous  output,  and  a 
magnificent  foreign  trade,  and  all  without  wrong 
ing  a  single  man.  We  did  not  crush  competitors; 
we  did  not  cheat  inventors.  There  were  a  score 
of  men  in  our  mills  on  the  Calumet  River  who 
had  risen  to  be  stockholders  and  who  were 
drawing  royalties  on  their  patents  in  use  by  us. 

"  And  now  you  beat  the  whole  system  down 
in  a  minute.  And  why?  You  have  had  a  six- 
hour  day.  Socialism  can  promise  no  better  day, 
can  it?  There  has  been  no  misery  or  want,  has 
there?  Few  accidents  occur  anywhere  to-day  in 
the  industrial  field.  Widows  and  orphans  don't 
suffer.  Where  the  companies  showed  the  slightest 


At  the  Pelion  119 

reluctance  to  meet  their  just  demands,  the  courts 
promptly  stepped  in.  I  know  that  this  was  not 
the  case  thirty,  even  twenty,  years  ago.  Then  the 
workingman  was  too  often  at  the  mercy  of  legal 
quibbles  and  technicalities.  But  common  sense 
has  prevailed  in  our  courts.  Man  has  at  last  had 
justice,  has  had  it  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury. 

"What  do  men  want  with  this  Socialism? 
What  does  it  offer  them  they  haven't  had  before? 
But — "  and  Mr.  Markham's  voice  lowered — 
"  the  thing  has  been  done.  Protest  is  useless. 
And  yet  your  leaders  already  are  growing  too 
bold.  They  will  overreach  themselves.  The 
stopping  of  the  private  press  was  an  act  of  re 
pression,  not  an  act  of  liberty.  It  was  the  first 
step  toward  absolutism.  Now  this  government 
of  yours  publishes  its  own  official  sheet.  The 
people  have  no  knowledge  of  what  is  really  going 
on,  or  how  the  new  plan  is  succeeding.  They 
may  not  be  able  to  tell  even  in  their  own  special 
field  of  employment.  And  with  a  worse  than 


I2O        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

muzzled  press,  dissatisfaction  and  discontent  are, 
on  the  surface  at  least,  absolutely  quelled.  It  has 
no  mode  of  finding  expression.  When  it  does 
burst  it  will  be  as  a  volcano. 

"  Moreover,  it's  an  absurd  form  of  the  grossest 
materialism  that  you  have  instituted.  You  pro 
fess  to  have  provided  for  the  finer  forms  of  work, 
yet  authorship  will  become  nil,  and  so  will  art. 
It  is  true  you  are  talking  about  appointing  com 
missions  to  select  the  best  writers  of  the  day,  and 
a  limited  number  of  young  men  and  women  who 
show  promise,  to  be  kept  at  the  expense  of  the 
state.  But  how  are  those  who  have  not  been  so 
fortunate,  writing  in  their  leisure  moments  after 
their  day's  work  for  the  state  is  done,  to  find  an 
audience?  There  are  no  publishers.  Literature 
and  art  will  die.  Fame,  you  say,  will  be  a  stimu 
lus  to  produce  the  very  best  work.  Do  you  think 
that  fame  is  a  sufficient  stimulus  for  the  artists 
and  writers  of  the  day?  You  say  you  hope  to 
make  it  a  sufficient  stimulus.  But  can  you? 

"  Your  whole  experiment  is  premature.     You 


At  the  Pelion  121 

have  attempted  to  introduce  Socialism  by  revolu 
tion  and  not  by  evolution, — by  political  methods, 
and  not  by  the  law  of  natural  growth.  Economics 
is  not  a  matter  of  theoretical  formula  but  of 
everyday  fact." 

As  Mr.  Markham  talked,  a  look  of  relief  crept 
into  Dorothy's  eyes.  It  was  evident  that  his 
spirit  was  not  broken,  after  all,  by  the  great 
calamity  that  had  befallen  them.  She  knew  him 
so  thoroughly  as  to  understand  that  he  was 
already  learning  to  adapt  himself  to  the  new  con 
dition,  despite  his  vigorous  protest. 

Bornheim,  too,  seemed  relieved  at  the  turn  the 
conversation  had  taken.  It  was  much  pleasanter 
to  hear  the  Socialistic  system  arraigned  than  to 
discuss  Mr.  Markham's  position  under  it. 

His  relief  was  intensified  by  the  sound  of  clear- 
ringing  electric  bells. 

"  Lunch  time,"  he  explained.  "  When  you 
are  ready  to  go  down,  may  I  escort  you  to  the 
dining  room  ?  " 

"  You  said  meals  might  be  served   in  one's 


122         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

rooms "  Dorothy  began.  But  Mr.  Markham 

broke  in  upon  her  words. 

"  We  shall  ask  no  favors,"  he  said  vehemently. 
"  We  may  as  well  accustom  ourselves,  first  as  last, 
to  things  as  they  are.  Why  wait  till  evening,  or 
to-morrow,  or  the  next  day?" 

Yes,  it  was  better,  perhaps,  that  they  should 
begin  their  new  life  at  once,  Dorothy  agreed, 
though  she  still  felt  dazed  and  humiliated  after 
the  events  of  the  morning.  The  immediate  execu 
tion  of  the  court's  judgment  had  left  no  time  for 
mental  preparation.  Had  the  severing  of  all  ties 
with  her  past  life  come  gradually,  the  ordeal 
might  not  perhaps  have  been  so  trying.  Though 
it  might  be  best  to  do  as  her  father  willed,  she 
shrank  from  what  lay  before  her. 

Resignedly  she  began  to  make  her  few  simple 
preparations — much  simpler  than  they  had  been 
a  short  time  back  when  a  maid  attended  upon  all 
her  wants.  Presently  she  was  ready,  and  the 
three  descended  together. 

Dorothy  had  once  spent  an  afternoon  at  one  of 


At  the  Pelion  123 

those  summer  resorts  frequented  chiefly  by 
transients,  and  the  scene  in  the  dining  room  ap 
peared  to  her  much  like  what  she  had  witnessed 
on  that  occasion.  A  stampede  seemed  to  have 
occurred.  The  place  was  in  an  uproar.  Women 
were  dragging  children,  scolding,  and  calling  to 
them  in  high-pitched,  querulous  tones,  and  they 
were  sweeping  down  in  confused  groups,  con 
fiscating  table  after  table.  There  was  a  banging 
of  chairs  and  an  incessant  clatter  of  tongues  that 
was  bewildering. 

Bornheim,  however,  did  not  seem  at  all  to  mind 
the  uproar,  and  clinging  to  him,  in  some  be 
wilderment,  father  and  daughter  were  safely 
piloted  through  the  press  and  seated  at  a  table 
halfway  down  the  dining  hall,  which  seemed  for 
all  the  world,  in  that  place,  like  a  little  island  in 
a  seething  sea. 

Dorothy  found  herself  seated  between  a  rather 
young  and  sprightly  woman  on  her  left,  and  a 
heavy- jowled,  coarse- featured  man,  of  perhaps 
thirty-five.  Bornheim  was  seated  immediately  to 


124        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  right  of  this  individual,  while  Mr.  Markham 
had  a  position  still  farther  down  the  board,  for 
by  the  time  the  three  arrived  at  the  table  no  two 
adjoining  seats  were  vacant.  There  were,  in  all, 
ten  persons  at  the  table. 

And  then  Dorothy  was  suddenly  conscious  that 
Mr.  Bornheim  was  introducing  herself  and  father 
to  the  others. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  sprightly  young  woman,  in  a 
sufficiently  impressed  tone,  "  your  father's  the  big 
steel  manufacturer." 

Dorothy  frowned.  Why  hadn't  the  creature 
the  decency  to  let  her  alone;  to  let  them  take 
their  places  in  the  new  social  order  quietly  and 
without  notice,  instead  of  dragging  their  mis 
fortune  into  the  light  of  vulgar  curiosity  and  com 
passion?  Yet  she  must  answer.  She  already 
understood  their  new  situation  well  enough  to 
recognize  that  to  show  resentment  would  avail 
matters  not  at  all.  Resentment,  or  show  of 
delicacy,  here  would  be  wholly  misunderstood. 
She  must  answer. 


At  the  Pelion  125 

"  Was,  you  mean,  don't  you  ?  "  said  Dorothy 
good-naturedly. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  replied  the  sprightly  one. 
Her  name  was  Twesdem.  "  Really,  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  submit  to  so  great  a  change.  I'm 
an  aristocrat  at  heart  myself, — really,  I  am.  The 
people  here,  you  know,  are  so  common.  Why, 
they're  just  jammed  together,  ex-millionaires,  and 
politicians,  and  factory  girls,  yes,  and  laboring 
men;  think  of  that!  My  husband  is  in  public 
office,  but  I  don't  like  things  at  all  now,  and  so 
I  tell  him,  and  everybody  else,  too,  for  that  mat 
ter.  He  used  to  be  manager  in  a  big  engraving 
plant, — Ewell  and  Rockington- — you've  heard  of 
them,  no  doubt.  And  his  salary  was  twice  what 
it  is  now.  It's  just  dreadful,  too,  to  think  what's 
happened  to  all  those  men  that  worked  there. 
They've  been  thrown  out  of  their  regular  line  of 
work.  There  are  no  more  engravings  to  be  made 
for  catalogues,  or  magazines,  or  newspapers,  and 
they  have  to  turn  their  hands  to  the  building  of 
roads,  or  even  to  digging  up  the  streets.  And 


ia6         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

they  don't  get  any  more  wages  than  when  each 
one  of  them  had  at  least  a  chance  to  be  in  the 
upper  set." 

Mrs.  Twesdem  sighed  reflectively,  turning  her 
vivacious  eyes,  and  good-natured,  but  rather  weak 
face,  toward  Dorothy. 

"  I  like  intellectual  people,  don't  you  ?  "  she 
ran  on.  "  I'm  quite  interested  in  that  new  uni 
versal  language,  Irgot.  They  say  it's  really  going 
to  be  a  success,  too.  They  used  to  study 
Espanola,  but  they  tell  me  that  that  was  never 
any  good,  anyway.  And  I'm  a  regular  hero- 
worshiper.  I  love  great  men.  But  do  you 
know,  I  think  all  great  men  immoral?  Yet  you 
can  forgive  them  for  that,  can't  you  ?  " 

And  so  she  ran  on  with  her  chatter,  which,  to 
Dorothy's  abstracted  mind,  presently  became  only 
a  subconscious  jingle  of  words. 

Then  suddenly  her  mind  was  brought  back  to 
its  surroundings.  Who's  name  had  been  men 
tioned?  Seebar's?  To  Dorothy's  ears  Mrs. 
Twesdem's  words  were  chatter  no  longer;  no 


At  the  Pelion  127 

longer  they  jingled;  they  rang,  and  her  heart  beat 
rapidly  as  she  listened. 

"  And  were  you  at  the  great  Convention?  Oh, 
it  was  wonderful  to  hear  the  speakers.  And  then 
one  man  got  up.  He  was  only  a  delegate,  Alfred 
Seebar.  He  stood  there,  so  big  and  handsome 
and  impressive,  and  when  he  opened  his  lips  his 
words  seemed  to  boom  out  away  over  the  hall, 
yet  they  were  not  loud  or  harsh.  And  then  he 
grew  impassioned,  and  how  his  splendid  eyes 
flashed.  He  held  them  all,  too,  so  quiet  and 
hushed,  till  he  sat  down.  Then  how  they  did 
shout.  I  thought  the  very  walls  of  the  hall  would 
burst  with  the  sound." 

Dorothy  was  looking  in  surprise  at  Mrs.  Twes- 
dem.  The  latter's  eyes  were  shining,  her  cheeks 
were  flushed,  and  she  appeared  surprisingly  pretty 
and  animated.  The  words  had  thrilled  Dorothy, 
though  she  recognized  that  the  speech  was  an 
artificially  prepared  product,  and  probably  not  her 
own. 

Bornheim's   handsome   and    slightly    sensuous 


1 28         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

face  was  beaming  as  he  leaned  forward. 
"  Mighty  well  done,  Mrs.  Twesdem,  mighty  well 
done,"  he  complimented.  "  Seebar  would  have 
reason  to  congratulate  himself  could  he  but  hear 
you.  But  I'll  tell  him,  I'll  tell  him." 

The  heavy-jowled  individual  to  the  right  of 
Dorothy — Edgar  Jeppels — who  was  holding  his 
spoon  in  a  firm,  determined  grasp,  while  he 
scraped  the  bottom  of  his  dish  of  peas  with  great 
strokes,  alternating  with  gobbling  gulps,  now 
broke  in.  "  Seebar  would  be  all  right  if  he  wasn't 
such  a  blamed  snob.  Why — • — " 

But  Bornheim  had  reached  his  ankle  with  a 
swinging  blow  of  his  foot. 

"  Hell !  "  exclaimed  Jeppels,  sullenly.  "  Beg 
pardon,  ladies,  but  he  kicked  me  just  now  blamed 
hard.  It's  so.  I  don't  mean  no  harm  to  nobody, 
but  it's  so.  Seebar's  a  blamed  conceited  cad. 
Why,  he's  a  regular  dyed-in-the-moss  aristo 
crat.  You  remember  that  night,  Hank,"  turning 
to  Bornheim,  "  we  was  up  in  the  Chamber  of 
Trade  Building,  the  way  he  treated  me,  and  you 


At  the  Pelion  129 

too,  for  that  matter.  He's  just  nothing  but  a 
blamed,  caddish  snob." 

Bornheim  cast  imploring  eyes — eyes  that  be- 
seeched  forgiveness — toward  Dorothy.  He  failed 
to  notice  that  she  was  not  at  all  offended,  only 
quietly  amused. 

"  Come,  come,  Jeppels,"  he  said  sharply,  "  re 
member  this  isn't  your  constituency  in  the  First 
Ward  you're  with  now." 

The  ex-alderman  was  a  bit  ashamed.  "  Oh, 
well,  Hank,"  he  began. 

Dorothy  had  turned  to  him.  "  You  seem  to 
have  strong  likes  and  dislikes,  have  you  not,  Mr. 
Jeppels  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  no  stronger  than  other  people,  maybe." 
He  was  evidently  flattered  by  Dorothy's  attention. 
"  But  I'm  honest,  I  am;  I  say  what  I  think.  Even 
when  I  was  in  the  polit  game,  I  always  handed 
it  straight  to  the  boys.  I  don't  pretend  to  like 
a  thing  I  don't  like.  I  like  what  I  like,  and  I 
say  so.  I  hate  what  I  hate,  and  I  say  so,  that's 
me." 


130        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

For  the  moment  all  this  was  amusing  enough, 
now  that  her  first  distress  was  over.  But  as  Dor 
othy  looked  about  the  table  and  saw  the  friv 
olous,  insentient  faces  there,  heard  the  noise  in 
the  room,  the  loud  talking  over  inconsequential 
things,  and  remembered  that  among  such  peo 
ple,  in  just  such  surroundings  her  life  henceforth 
was  to  be  passed,  her  heart  sank  heavily  once 
more  within  her. 

Aside  from  Mrs.  Twesdem's  outburst  of  en 
thusiasm  over  Seebar,  and  the  little  side-play 
with  the  ex-alderman,  Jeppels,  the  lunch  hour 
was  a  painful  time,  indeed,  and  Dorothy  was  glad 
when  they  were  through  and  she  and  her  father 
once  more  were  alone  in  the  privacy  of  their 
apartment. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
AN  ATTEMPT  AT  RECONCILIATION 

"V  ~\  7HILE  during  the  many  months  past,  since 
that  night  in  the  library,  Seebar's  love 
for  Dorothy  had  not  lessened,  thought  of  her 
had  ceased  to  bring  that  keen,  poignant  regret 
that  at  times  had  come  to  him  in  the  lull  of  his 
political  activities. 

He  had  been  able  to  think  of  her, — not  with 
out  pain,  it  is  true, — but  with  the  pain  robbed  of 
much  of  its  sharpness.  Hope  aided  him  some 
what  in  this,  but  all  unaware  that  such  was  the 
case,  Seebar  was  gradually  becoming  reconciled 
to  the  loss  of  Dorothy. 

Then  he  had  seen  her  again — seen  her  in  her 
grief  and  in  her  courage.  At  the  station,  whither 
he  had  conveyed  her  and  her  father,  she  had  re 
buffed  his  attempts  to  say  good-by.  After  that 
first  accusing  glance,  when  she  had  raised  her 


132         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

head  from  her  father's  shoulder,  she  had  no  more 
deigned  to  notice  him  than  if  he  had  been  a 
porter — had  not  deigned  to  notice  him  even  as 
much. 

Great  as  he  believed  his  love  for  Dorothy  to 
be,  Seebar  did  not  fully  realize,  till  he  turned 
from  the  station  that  morning,  the  tremendous 
void  that  had  come  into  his  life.  All  his  slumber 
ing  passion  for  her  returned  with  overwhelming 
force.  He  would  not,  could  not,  let  her  go  thus. 

Dorothy's  attitude  had  aroused  in  him  all  his 
fighting  blood.  Mingled  with  his  sense  of  loss 
there  was  a  feeling  of  resentment.  He  deter 
mined  to  beat  down  her  opposition,  and  carry  her 
love  by  storm,  as  he  would  carry  a  crowd  with 
eloquence  from  the  platform. 

As  a  result  of  this  resolution,  the  second  night 
after  their  arrival  at  the  Pelion,  on  returning 
from  dinner,  Dorothy  found  Seebar  awaiting 
her  in  the  hall  outside  the  apartment  occupied  by 
herself  and  father. 

As  the  girl  stepped  from  the  elevator  she  saw 


An  Attempt  at  Reconciliation      133 

Seebar.  One  glance,  and  she  was  hurrying  by 
him. 

But  he  stepped  directly  in  front  of  her. 

"  Dorothy."  It  was  almost  a  command.  Then 
more  gently,  he  repeated,  "  Dorothy." 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

Her  cheek  had  flushed,  and  her  breathing  came 
quick.  As  he  looked  down  into  her  eyes  he  read 
defiance  there. 

"  I  must  speak  with  you  for  a  moment,  Doro 
thy." 

But  she  broke  in  upon  his  words.  "  It  is  no 
use,  no  use  at  all,  Mr.  Seebar.  Please  let  me  go." 

"You  are  unjust,"  he  replied;  "unjust  to 
yourself,  unjust  to  me,  in  not  listening  to  what 
I  have  to  say." 

"  What  can  you  have  to  say  that  is  new  ? 
Things  have  not  improved.  They  are  only  worse 
— more  miserable  than  ever  before." 

She  would  have  passed  him,  but  he  laid  a  de 
taining  hand  upon  her  arm. 

Indignation  rushed  into  her  eyes.     "  You  can- 


134        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

not  coerce  me  in  this  fashion.  I  will  not  talk 
with  you,"  she  exclaimed  angrily. 

He  dropped  his  hand,  fixing  her  with  a  steady 
and  earnest  look.  "  You  are  a  child,"  he  re 
torted;  "  a  mere  child — afraid  to  listen  lest  you 
be  convinced  against  your  whim.  Your  pride  is 
hurt  because  I  refused  to  give  up  my  ambition  at 
your  wish;  because  I  have  held  my  ideals — 
whether  the  ideals  are  right  or  wrong  has  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  question; — in  the  face  of  your 
protest.  You  told  me  that  night  in  your  father's 
library  that  for  a  woman's  love  a  man  should 
sacrifice  even  his  honor.  You  are  not  a  woman, 
but  a  child,  and  as  such  I  must  be  forced  to  con 
sider  you. 

"  In  spite  of  your  silly,  rebellious  mood,  you 
are  going  to  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say — and  you 
are  going  to  listen  quietly  and  seriously." 

Dorothy  stared.  No  one  had  ever  talked  to 
her  like  this  before,  certainly  not  Seebar.  There 
was  little  of  anger  in  his  voice.  His  tones  were 
cold  and  masterful. 


An  Attempt  at  Reconciliation      135 

And  as  he  saw  defiance  give  way  to  bewilder 
ment,  Seebar  felt  that  if  he  had  adopted  his  pres 
ent  attitude  many  months  back  instead  of  trying 
to  reason,  to  plead,  with  her,  their  alienation 
would  not  have  been  possible. 

There  came  a  pause  during  which  he  still 
quietly  watched  her.  Then  all  at  once  her  eyes 
dropped  beneath  his  gaze,  and  she  drew  in  a  deep 
breath. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  very  low,  and  the  manner 
of  her  saying  it  implied  even  more  than  the  word, 
submission  to  his  will. 

Seebar's  heart  leaped;  with  her  eyes  drooping 
and  her  head  bent,  she  seemed  very  beautiful  to 
him  in  her  apparent  surrender. 

But,  even  as  he  rejoiced,  Fate  played  him  a 
trick. 

Behind  them  footsteps  sounded,  coming  up  the 
hall,  and  he  turned  to  discover  that  the  intruders 
were  Mr.  Markham  and  Bornheim. 

The  latter  scarcely  allowed  the  pause  that  fol 
lowed  to  grow  awkward.  He  grasped  Seebar's 


136         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

hand  and  shook  it  with  all  the  warmth  and  en 
thusiasm  of  a  very  dear  friend. 

"  So,  old  man,"  he  said  quite  heartily,  "  you've 
condescended  to  reappear  among  us  terrestrials 
once  more." 

"  I  came  to  see  Miss  Markham — and  Mr. 
Markham,"  Seebar  rejoined  shortly. 

"  Mr.  Seebar,"  said  Mr.  Markham,  "  I  cannot 
say  that  I  am  pleased  to  see  you.  However,  if 
there  is  anything  I  can  do " 

He  did  not  finish,  but  led  the  way  into  his 
apartment. 

"  I  think  we  shall  be  quite  secluded  and  private 
here,"  he  continued,  conducting  Seebar  into  a 
small  room  that  opened  from  the  larger  one  they 
had  first  entered. 

He  closed  the  door  upon  Bornheim  and  Doro 
thy  in  the  outer  room.  "  Now,  what  is  it,  Mr. 
Seebar?"  he  asked. 

Seebar  bit  his  lip  with  vexation,  but  checked 
any  manifestation  in  words  of  the  irritation  that 
possessed  him. 


An  Attempt  at  Reconciliation      137 

"  Mr.  Markham,  there  is  just  one  thing  I  wish; 
that  is,  to  be  left  alone  with  your  daughter.  I 
had  almost  effected  a  reconciliation,  I  believe, 
when  we  were  interrupted." 

The  ex-steel  magnate  frowned.  "  Dorothy  is 
free  in  the  matter,"  he  answered.  "  She  can  do 
as  she  pleases.  She  knows  what  my  wishes  are, 
however." 

"  And  yet  you  have  no  reluctance  in  having 
her  make  the  acquaintance  of  another  Socialist 
leader,"  Seebar  retorted. 

"  Bornheim,  of  course  you  mean,"  Mr.  Mark- 
ham  returned  composedly.  "  But  that  is  dif 
ferent." 

"  And  why,  pray?" 

"  Well,  it  is  not  so  much  to  the  Socialistic 
principles  I  object,  but  to  the  lack  of  sincerity 
of  those  holding  them." 

"  And  Bornheim,  you  believe,  is  honestly  a 
Socialist?" 

"  That's  it,  exactly." 

"  And  you  still  believe  that  I  am  not  ?  " 


138         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  I  still  hold  to  that  opinion." 

"  Well,  I  shall  take  you  at  your  word  of  a 
moment  ago  and  try  once  more  to  speak  with 
Dorothy." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Markham. 

Seebar  rose  from  his  chair.  Mr.  Markham 
walked  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open.  "  Doro 
thy,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Seebar  would  like  to  speak 
with  you  alone.  You  know  my  wishes  in  the 
matter." 

There  was  an  interval,  really  quite  brief,  but 
to  Seebar,  waiting  in  the  little  room,  of  long 
duration.  Finally  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  her  voice  sounded  cool  and  even,  "  but 
tell  him  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him." 

"  Anything  more,  Mr.  Seebar?  "  Mr.  Markham 
inquired,  not  unkindly. 

Seebar  was  fighting  the  horrible  chill  that  had 
seized  his  heart.  With  an  effort  he  mastered  his 
despair. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded.  "  If  you  can  do  nothing 
for  me,  perhaps  I  can  do  something  for  you." 


An  Attempt  at  Reconciliation     139 

He  paused. 

Mr.  Markham's  eyes  were  fixed  expectantly 
upon  him. 

"Well?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"  Mr.  Markham,  I  was  frank  with  you  once 
before  on  this  same  subject.  I  will  be  frank  with 
you  again.  I  asked  you,  if  the  Great  Change 
came  about,  what  you  were  going  to  do.  It  has 
come  about,  and  I  again  ask  you  what  you  expect 
to  do  to  live." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mr.  Markham  very 
slowly.  "  I  am  expecting  the  official  notice  daily. 
1  suppose  I  shall  have  to  do  clerical  work  of  some 
sort." 

"If  you  would  but  let  me,  I  could  assist  you 
very  much,  I  could  indeed."  Seebar  was  all 
earnestness.  "  I  have  influence " 

Mr.  Markham  interrupted  him.  "  Perhaps  you 
have,"  he  retorted,  "  and  it  might  have  been 
advisable  to  have  used  it  sooner  yesterday  than 
you  did.  However,  don't  think  me  ungrateful," 
he  presently  added.  "  I  know  you  saved  me  from 


140        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

considerable  additional  insult  yesterday.  But  I 
feel  that  I  can  accept  nothing  from  you." 

"  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,"  said  Seebar.  And 
he  meant  it. 

"  I  am  sorry,  too,"  replied  Mr.  Markham,  with 
an  apparently  equal  sincerity. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SEEBAR    MEETS    WITH    AN    ACQUAINT 
ANCE 

AS  Seebar  passed  out  into  the  glare  of  the 
streets,  never  had  his  spirits  been  lower, 
his  heart  more  heavy.  So  long  as  the  only  rival 
in  his  love  had  been  his  political  doctrines,  the 
breach  between  him  and  Dorothy  had  not  seemed 
so  hopeless  of  mending.  But  now  this  new  fac 
tor — Bornheim — entering  into  the  situation,  had 
utterly  upset  his  calculations. 

He  knew  Bornheim  to  be  at  times  quite  pleas 
ing,  even  fascinating.  A  frankly  avowed 
voluptuary  among  men,  with  women  he  could 
be  refined,  and,  certainly,  ingratiatingly  deferen 
tial  and  gallant.  The  coarser  fibre,  which  he 
could  skilfully  veneer  when  he  wished,  though 
usually  palpable  enough  to  men,  to  women  showed 
through  as  strong,  masterful  manhood.  And 


142         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Seebar  could  see  no  reason  why  Dorothy,  shel 
tered  and  protected  since  birth  from  the  harsher 
phases  of  life,  should  be  able  rightly  to  read  the 
character  of  such  a  man.  Even  men  of  the 
world  might  be  deceived  in  this  crafty  politician 
and  roue  when  he  wished  to  mask  his  true  nature. 

Mr.  Markham,  too,  had  evidently  been  misled 
by  his  suave  pretensions,  for,  to  all  appearances, 
the  man  had  been  unreservedly  accepted  as  a 
friend  by  the  former  steel  manufacturer.  Seebar 
remembered  how,  in  the  old  days,  Dorothy's 
father  had  been  exactingly  careful  with  refer 
ence  to  the  character  of  the  men  with  whom  she 
associated.  How  had  Bornheim  managed  so 
quickly  to  break  down  the  old  man's  native 
caution  ? 

In  asking  himself  this  question,  Seebar  did 
not  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  change 
of  circumstances  might  have  affected  Mr.  Mark- 
ham's  decision  in  this  matter.  That  father  and 
daughter,  friendless,  for  the  time  being  at  least, 
should  find,  in  Bornheim,  a  guide  and  protector, 


An  Acquaintance  143 

did  not  occur  to  him.  Nor,  of  course,  did  he 
suspect  the  part  his  telegram — gone  astray — 
to  Lessing,  had  played  in  establishing  this  con 
fidence,  and  that  Bornheim's  position  with  the 
Markhams  was,  after  all,  in  reality  an  indorse 
ment  by  them  of  their  unexpressed  faith  in  his 
own  integrity. 

Understanding  nothing  of  this,  as  he  plunged 
along  against  the  wind,  head  bent  low,  eyes 
unseeing,  a  despairing  anger  burned  in  his  heart 
that  his  absence  seemed  to  be  compensated  for 
by  this  other  man. 

In  his  course,  instinctively  he  fled  from  the 
lights  and  noise  of  the  streets.  His  steps  led 
him  across  the  quarter-mile  of  park  that 
separated  the  boulevard  from  the  shores  of  Lake 
Michigan.  The  balminess  of  the  atmosphere, 
unusual  for  so  early  in  the  year,  which  had  pre 
vailed  for  the  several  weeks  past,  had  vanished 
before  a  cold,  penetrating  wind  out  of  the  north 
west. 

For  some  time  Seebar  thus  walked  on,   fol- 


144         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

lowing  the  shore-line,  while  at  his  right  the 
waters  tumbled  and  boomed.  Then,  as  the  chill 
of  the  night  penetrated  to  his  skin,  abating  the 
fever  of  body  but  not  of  mind,  he  turned  his 
back  on  the  wild  dark  lake,  where  the  waves, 
breaking  against  the  sea  wall,  hissed  in  a  foam- 
spitting  shower. 

By  the  time  he  had  regained  the  boulevard  he 
was  trembling  with  cold.  Still  he  would  not  take 
shelter,  for  the  fire  within  his  mind  would  not 
permit  ease  of  body.  Besides,  the  wind  did  not 
here  have  the  bold  broad  sweep  it  had  on  the 
lake  front. 

Once  he  stopped.  This  was  in  front  of  the 
Cafe  Berton,  where,  in  the  old  days,  he  had  often 
dined  with  Dorothy  after  the  play.  He  had  half- 
turned  into  the  broad  corridor  before  he  realized 
that  unconsciously  his  steps  were  leading  him 
to  a  place  of  old  associations.  The  place,  with 
its  fine  stone  carved  front,  and  glare  of  lights 
through  richly  stained  glass,  for  the  moment 
seemed  unbearable. 


An  Acquaintance  145 

Here  it  was  that  he  had  given  Dorothy  her 
engagement  ring.  He  had  seated  her  in  a  quiet 
corner  of  the  dining  room,  himself  at  her  left. 
He  recalled  how,  beneath  the  table,  his  own  hand 
trembling  so  that  he  feared  he  would  drop  the 
ring,  he  had  slipped  the  narrow  band  upon  her 
finger,  and  how  she  had  first  blushed  and  then 
paled,  and,  finally,  looking  down  at  the  stone 
glittering  its  various  tints  underneath  the  bright 
lights,  she  had  half-met  and  then  dropped  her 
eyes  before  his  gaze. 

As  the  contrast  of  the  present  came  fully  home 
to  him,  he  set  his  teeth  as  if  to  crush  his  despair, 
and  turned  once  more  to  fight  his  way  against 
the  wind,  welcoming  its  fierce  buffetings  as 
something  his  still  fiercer  anguish  could  beat 
itself  against. 

At  last,  half -exhausted  and  thoroughly  chilled, 
he  did  turn  into  a  sheltering  doorway,  and  found 
himself  within  the  corridor  of  the  Ajax,  one 
of  the  many  hundreds  of  municipal  hotels  that 
housed  Chicago's  citizens. 


146        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

He  had  taken  but  a  few  steps  down  the  passage 
way,  when  he  was  accosted  by  a  young  man,  who 
extended  his  hand  in  greeting.  In  the  square-built 
figure,  frank  blue  eyes,  open  countenance,  See- 
bar  recognized  the  furniture  mover  who  had 
struck  down  the  bully  who  had  tormented  Mr. 
Markham. 

His  name  was  John  Edgeington. 

Seebar  was  genuinely  glad  to  meet  him  once 
more.  Here  was  a  link,  remote  it  is  true,  but 
nevertheless  a  link,  serving  to  bring  him  in  touch, 
in  a  way,  with  the  Markhams. 

It  was  from  this  man  that  Seebar  got  another 
picture  of  the  workings  of  the  new  regime,  that 
hitherto  he  had  not  seen. 

Edgeington  had  invited  Seebar  to  his  apart 
ments,  and  the  overseer  of  Chicago  had  accepted 
the  invitation. 

"  You  won't  find  things  here  just  the  same  as 
you  would  in  your  own  quarters,  I  expect," 
said  Edgeington,  half -apologetically,  as  they 
entered  the  apartment.  "  We  have  only  three 


An  Acquaintance  147 

rooms.  It's  rather  crowded  for  so  many — my 
wife,  two  children,  and  myself." 

"  You  don't  mean "  Seebar  began;  then 

recalled  the  numerous  complaints  that  had  been 
coming  into  his  department  of  the  inadequate 
quarters  that  the  municipal  authorities  were 
assigning  to  many  families.  Up  to  the  present, 
however,  he  had  not  had  a  concrete  case  thus 
directly  brought  to  his  attention. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  replied  Edgeington,  smiling 
slightly. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  realize "  Seebar  began 

again.  Then  as  he  recalled  rumors  of  "  pull," 
once  more  he  grew  silent.  How  different  his  own 
quarters  were  at  the  Alexius;  and  he  had  cer 
tainly  used  his  influence  to  have  certain  rooms 
assigned  to  old-time  friends. 

"If  you'll  sit  down,"  suggested  Edgeington, 
"  I'll  call  my  wife  and  babies." 

The  room  into  which  Seebar  had  been  brought 
was  almost  painfully  bare.  The  walls  were 
rough  finished.  Cracks  gashed  the  plaster.  The 


148         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

furniture  was  cheap-made  and  scanty.  The 
Ajax  was  one  of  those  office  buildings  that 
had  been  hastily  remodeled  to  meet  the  exigencies 
of  Socialism  for  housing  families. 

Seebar  was  standing  at  the  electric  heater, 
which,  however,  failed  to  emit  warmth,  when 
Edgeington  reappeared  with  his  wife,  a  dark, 
slender,  neatly  dressed  woman,  and  two  boys, 
the  elder  not  over  eight  years,  trailing  timidly 
behind  her. 

"  You'll  find  it  rather  unpleasant  and  cold  here, 
I  know,"  Mrs.  Edgeington  said,  apologizing 
somewhat  in  the  same  manner  her  husband  had 
done.  "  We  haven't  got  very  much  light,  even. 
We've  been  dreadfully  uncomfortable  here  all 
winter,  and  this  unexpected  change  in  the 
weather  has,  of  course,  taken  us  by  surprise. 
We're  not  finding  fault  with  the  government," 
she  hastened  to  explain;  "  my  husband  and  I  are 
as  ardent  Socialists  as  any,  but  we've  felt  the 
change  so  in  our  circumstances.  The  heating 
system  seems  never  to  have  been  properly  in- 


An  Acquaintance  149 

stalled  in  the  building,  and  we  did  have  such  a 
pretty  little  home  in  the  suburbs,"  she  added  quite 
wistfully. 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on,  "  for  one  thing  we 
haven't  got  our  own  furniture.  We're  supposed 
to  have  as  much  of  our  own  as  we  need  for 
fitting  up  our  new  homes.  The  surplus  goes  to 
the  state.  But  here  I  am  telling  you  things  you 
know  far  more  about  than  I." 

"  No,  go  on,"  Seebar  urged.  "  You're  telling 
me  things  that  I  have  heard  of,  perhaps,  but 
which  I  didn't  exactly  understand  before,  at 
least  in  the  way  you  are  telling  me." 

"  Well,"  continued  Mrs.  Edgeington,  re- 
encouraged,  "  we  didn't  get  any  of  our  own 
things,  except  some  of  our  books.  John  took 
special  care  of  them  himself  and  managed  to 
save  them.  But  all  our  other  little  things  are 
gone — the  pictures  we  bought,  and  the  little  set 
of  blue  china  we  started  housekeeping  with  when 
we  were  married — everything  is  gone  that  we 
treasured,  and  we  can't  find  a  trace.  The  order 


150        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

numbers,  or  the  tags,  or  something,  got  mixed, 
I  suppose." 

To  Seebar,  all  this  was  of  course  quite  painful, 
but  the  subject  of  Socialistic  maladministration 
once  started,  he  was  determined  to  learn  from 
these  people  all  they  chose  to  tell  him. 

"  You  haven't  always  been  a  furniture  mover, 
have  you  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  the  husband. 

"  No."  The  answer  was  almost  curt.  "  I 
used  to  be  a  frescoer." 

"  Oh,  I  see."  The  tone  of  which  reply  meant, 
"  That  occupation's  about  gone  out."  "  But 
there's  the  common  painting,  of  course.  I  sup 
pose,  though,  you  prefer  the  work  you're  in  now 
rather  than  that." 

"  It's  hardly  a  matter  of  choice,  I  should  say," 
Edgeington  answered  somewhat  gloomily;  "  I 
can't  get  any  painting  to  do.  There  doesn't  seem 
to  be  enough  to  go  around." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  sud 
denly  Edgeington  burst  forth.  "  Mr.  Seebar, 
I'm  sick  of  all  this,  sick  of  my  surroundings,  sick 


An  Acquaintance  151 

of  my  work,  sick  of  this  Socialism.  It  has  swept 
away  pretty  near  everything  that  I  and  my  wife 
cherished.  We've  lost  our  home,  our  friends,  our 
possessions  of  every  sort." 

Edgeington,  with  a  quick  impatient  shake  of 
his  head,  and  a  frown,  disapproved  the  slight 
protest  his  wife  made  with  her  eyes.  "  Jenny — my 
wife — had  her  little  circle  of  friends,  in  the 
suburbs.  She  had  her  social  affairs,  her  club 
meetings,  her  little  parties.  Not  a  great  deal  of 
this  sort  of  thing,  to  be  sure,  because  we  are 
simple  people,  and  we  lived  simply,  but  perhaps 
we  enjoyed  it  all  the  more  because  we  didn't 
have  too  much.  Besides  there  were  the  children 
to  look  after.  Now  these  same  friends  are  scat 
tered  everywhere,  and  our  little  boys,  also,  have 
lost  their  playmates. 

"  It  isn't  just  the  physical  discomforts,  you 
see;  it's  the  almost  complete  breaking  up  of  our 
home  life  that's  hardest  of  all.  Yet  we  had 
visions  of  a  bigger,  broader  life  in  the  city.  We 
thought  of  the  art  museums  and  galleries.  I  was 


152         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

intensely  fond  of  such  things.  Then  there  was 
the  charm  of  change  itself.  I  sometimes  think  a 
kind  of  insanity  swept  over  this  nation  last  fall. 
I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  what  to  think  of  it  all. 
We  should  have  been  able  to  foretell  a  lot  of 
things.  Of  course  the  Capitalists  correctly 
prophesied  events,  but,  then,  who  paid  any  atten 
tion  to  the  Capitalists  ?  " 

Neither  the  wife  nor  Seebar  made  any  attempt 
at  interruption  now,  as,  leaning  forward  in  his 
earnestness,  Edgeington  went  on. 

"  Only  to-day  I  heard  two  men  talking  down 
stairs  in  the  dining  room.  One  of  them  pointed 
out  how  absurd  the  feeling  against  the  wealthier 
classes  had  been,  after  all.  '  They  hadn't  spent 
the  nation's  wealth,'  he  said.  '  They  had  really 
gathered  together  that  wealth,  concentrated  it, 
and  invested  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  good 
use  of  the  nation's  resources.  When  we  shouted 
for  Socialism,  we  were  crying  for  a  leveling 
process.  We  didn't  so  much  care  to  raise  our 
selves  as  to  lower  others.'  I  believe  he  was  right, 


An  Acquaintance  153 

and  if  I  had  the  chance  to  vote  on  the  proposition 
again,  I  think  I'd  cast  my  vote  against  Socialism. 

"  I  hate  the  men  I  work  with,  hate  and  despise 
them,  vulgar  uncouth  brutes,  who  know  nothing 
of  what  is  best  in  life — the  very  commonest  of 
day  laborers,  who  take  pride,  it  seems  to  me,  in 
their  very  coarseness.  I  hate  their  foul  talk  and 
dirty  jokes.  The  foreman  of  our  gang  sets  the 
example.  He's  a  full-necked,  red- faced  fellow, 
who  chews  tobacco  constantly,  and  spits  it  about 
everywhere.  It  makes  my  blood  boil  to  see  him 
wantonly  spit  upon  the  finest  of  white  satins,  as 
he  did  to-day. 

"  I  haven't  had  a  bit  of  peace  for  the  last  two 
days — ever  since  that  trouble  at  the  Mark- 
hams' "  He,  stopped  abruptly.  "  I'm  sorry, 

Mr.  Seebar,  to  have  run  on  like  this.  A  fine 
thing  for  a  man  to  do  to  invite  you  here  and 
then  trouble  you  with  conditions  that  are  no 
affair  of  yours.  I  guess  I'm  becoming  moody. 
I'm  thinking  so  much  of  my  own  troubles  that 
I'm  growing  mighty  selfish.  I'm  worrying  my 


154         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

poor  little  wife  to  death,  too,  with  this  sort  of 
talk.  All  this  is  hard  on  her,  I  know,  far  harder 
than  it  is  on  me." 

Again  he  turned  to  Seebar.  "  Once  more," 
he  said,  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am." 

"  Don't  apologize,"  protested  Seebar.  "  I'm 
glad  you've  spoken  out  as  you  have.  There  are 
a  thousand  and  one  things  in  the  new  system 
that  are  not  perfect,  and  the  more  we  learn  about 
them  the  easier  they  will  be  to  rectify.  And,  Mrs. 
Edgeington,"  he  added,  smiling  and  holding  out 
his  hand,  "  we'll  see  if  by  next  winter  you  won't 
like  the  new  conditions  better  than  the  old  ones. 
For  I  am  still  convinced  that  Socialism,  rightly 
administered,  is  the  very  best  form  of  govern 
ment." 

His  manner  was  so  confident  that,  for  the 
moment,  as  they  bade  him  good-night,  the  Edge- 
ingtons  were  almost  reassured.  They  could  not 
guess  how  far  the  wedge  of  doubt  had  penetrated 
into  Seebar's  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    DISTURBANCE    NEXT    DOOR;    THE 
DINING  ROOM  OF  THE  AJAX 

RS.  EDGEINGTON  sat  down  beside 
her  husband.  "  Yes,"  she  sighed,  "  it 
does  seem  strange  that  things  have  changed  like 
this  in  less  than  a  year's  time.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  much  I  miss  our  little  home,  with  the  gar 
den  and  the  summerhouse  set  among  the  trees, 
and  that  sunny  little  sewing  room,  and  the  chil 
dren's  white  bed-room.  Oh,  John !  " 

Presently  she  added :  "  But  I  don't  care  so 
much  for  myself  because  we've  lost  these  things. 
It's  for  you  and  the  children  I  care  most,  and 
the  change  in  your  kind  of  work.  Only  to  think 
you  should  be  nothing  more  now  than  a  day 
laborer — oh,  I  didn't  exactly  mean  that,  I " 

But  her  husband  would  not  have  the  phrase 

softened.   "  It's  true,  just  an  unskilled  day  laborer, 
155 


156         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

— a  furniture  mover.  And  it  seems  only  yes 
terday,  too,  that  I  was  promoted  as  foreman  of 
that  gang  of  frescoers  who  were  decorating  the 
interior  of  Mr.  Markham's  house;  yet  the  other 
day  I  had  to  help  plunder  the  place.  I  don't 
quite  understand  why  everything  should  have 
gone  wrong  like  this,"  he  added,  inclosing  his 
wife's  hand  in  his  large  strong  one.  "  There'll 
be  no  frescoing  for  many  a  day  to  come.  It 
certainly  was  my  misfortune  to  be  given  a  place 
as  a  furniture  mover  instead  of  as  a  painter." 

"  There  are  more  painters  than  the  govern 
ment  can  find  work  for  at  the  present  time,"  she 
suggested. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  dear;  look  at  these 
walls.  A  coat  of  paint  certainly  wouldn't  hurt 
them.  I'd  paint  them  myself,  only  I  can't  get 
the  paint,  and  any  way  the  government  won't  let 
a  man  do  things  like  that. 

"  Well,  the  hours  are  no  longer,  and  the  pay  is 
the  same  as  in  any  other  business,  but  that  isn't 
saying  a  vast  deal,  is  it?  for  wages  have  been 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door      157 

reduced  all  around.  I'm  not  getting  half  what 
I  got  before,  nor  as  much  as  I  got  even  as  a 
common  painter.  And  look  at  the  sort  of  sur 
roundings  I  have  to  provide  for  you.  When  I 
voted  for  Socialism  I  certainly  didn't  vote  for 
this." 

"  Come,  come,  dear,  don't !  "  she  pleaded. 

But  the  dark  mood  was  upon  him,  and  he  went 
on,  unheeding  her  remonstrance.  "  They 
promised  us  all  sorts  of  things,  did  these  Social 
ist  leaders,  and  what  have  they  given  us?  Cold 
miserable  quarters  in  place  of  a  comfortable  cot 
tage;  water  too  cold  to  take  a  bath  in;  children 
in  bed  at  seven  o'clock,  because  it's  too  cold  for 
them  to  be  about;  no  place  for  them  to  play. 
Little  Eddie  is  growing  thin  and  pale,  and  even 
John  isn't  as  stout  and  robust  as  he  used  to  be. 
If  the  proposition  was  before  me  again  I'd — — " 

His  speech  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  thumping 
on  the  wall  and  the  sound  of  voices,  excited  and 
hurried. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  Edgeington  asked. 


158         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  It's  that  Italian,  Pietro  Cavani.  He's  come 
home  intoxicated  again.  I'm  afraid  he'll  hurt 
his  wife  sometime;  he  carries  on  so." 

Her  hand  rested  on  her  husband's  shoulder, 
and  she  was  looking  up  into  his  face  with  that 
peculiarly  expectant  look  one  has  when  listening 
for  something  to  happen. 

Edgeington  instinctively  drew  his  wife  in 
closer  to  him. 

There  came  a  crash,  followed  by  a  muffled 
scream. 

"  I'd  better  go  and  see  what  it's  all  about. 
Maybe  it's  something  serious." 

She  would  have  detained  him,  but  he  gently 
released  himself  from  her  hold.  "  Now  sup 
posing  it  was  I  that  was  raising  a  row,  wouldn't 
you  be  glad  if  some  one  interfered?  Of  course 
you  would ! " 

He  was  out  in  the  hall  now,  with  his  hand  on 
the  knob  of  the  door  leading  into  the  adjacent 
apartment. 

All    was    quiet    for    the    moment.      Then    a 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door       159 

woman's  voice  came  through  almost  as  distinctly 
as  though  the  door  were  open. 

"  Don't,  don't  break  that,  Pietro;  it's  the  only 
doll  that  Clara  has  left." 

"  Won't,  won't— I'll  break  the  doll,  anything, 
you " 

This  was  answered  by  another  scream. 

Edgeington  brought  his  fist  against  the  door, 
a  blow  more  than  a  knock. 

"  Here,  here,"  he  called  out,  "  what's  going 
on?" 

There  followed  a  moment's  silence,  and  then 
the  woman  opened  the  door.  Large  dark  eyes 
shone  in  a  pale  face;  her  heavy  black  locks 

were  disheveled.  "  Why — why' "  Her  lips 

trembled. 

Cavani  tried  to  eye  the  intruder  insolently, 
but  Edgeington  disregarded  him.  "  Mrs. 
Cavani,"  he  demanded,  "  has  he  been  hurting 
you?" 

She  tried  to  frame  speech  once  more  with  her 
trembling  lips.  "  Not  exactly,"  she  finally  enun- 


160        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

ciated,  "  only  my  heart,"  and  she  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears. 

"  But  he's  not  to  blame,  indeed  he's  not,"  she 
presently  added,  her  marital  loyalty  trying 
bravely  to  show  itself. 

A  second  knocking, — this  time  timid, — 
sounded,  and  Mrs.  Edgeington  entered. 

Then  the  miserable  story  gradually  was  told. 
The  story  was  not  so  unlike  that  of  the  Edgeing- 
tons,  so  far  as  previously  happy  conditions  and 
prosperity  were  concerned.  Cavani  had  kept  a 
small  fruit  store,  and  was  as  joyful  as  any  man 
over  the  outcome  of  the  elections.  "  No  more 
long  hours  waiting  for  trade,"  he  had  said. 
"  Short  hours  without  heavy  work,  lots  of  going 
out,  lots  of  play.  We've  worked  too  hard,  now 
let's  enjoy  ourselves." 

She  readily  convinced  her  sympathetic  listeners 
that  indeed  they  had  worked  hard,  building  up 
their  little  business.  It  had  been  slow  work. 
Pietro  had  pushed  his  cart.  Later,  he  had  money 
enough  for  a  small  booth  under  the  outside  steps 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door       161 

of  a  building.  Finally,  he  had  moved  into  a 
shop.  Now  everything  was  gone. 

"  Our  little  home,  our  little  store — all  gone, 
gone,"  concluded  Mrs.  Cavani.  "  And  Pietro 
has  changed  so  much;  but  can  you  blame  him," 
she  challenged  in  unflinching  loyalty,  "  work 
ing  all  day  unpacking  fruit,  starting  life  all  over 
again,  and  with  nothing  ahead — nothing  ahead  " 
• — she  repeated  the  words  as  if  almost  horror- 
struck,  their  full  meaning  seeming  to  affect  her 
at  that  moment  with  peculiar  significance. 

She  looked  down  at  her  husband,  who  by  this 
time  was  stretched  full  length  on  the  sofa, 
snoring  peacefully. 

She  heaved  a  deep  sigh  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Well,  he's  quiet  at  last." 

Back  in  their  own  apartments,  Edgeington  and 
his  wife  were  silent  for  a  little. 

"  Do  you  remember,  dear,"  he  said,  speaking 
at  last,  "  how  we,  too,  struggled  along  to  buy 
our  little  place?  How  you  gave  up  all  thoughts 


162         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

of  a  new  hat  at  Easter  that  we  might  hurry  the 
payments  ?  " 

"  And  how  you  made  your  overcoat  last 
another  winter?  " 

"  Yes,  and  how  you  and  the  boys  grew  vege 
tables  in  the  garden  to  lessen  the  cost  for 
groceries  ?  " 

"  And  how  you  used  to  spade  in  the  evenings, 
and  on  Saturday  afternoons;  and  don't  you  re 
member  when  you  frescoed  the  parlor  Kitty  fell 
into  the  paint?  " 

Edgeington  looked  down  at  his  wife,  whose 
eyes  were  shining  and  lips  smiling.  He  recalled 
the  quiet  summer  evenings  on  the  side  porch — 
they  had  lived  beyond  the  zone  of  brilliant  light 
• — the  buzz  of  beetles  in  the  dusk,  the  bumping 
of  these  same  stupid  beetles  against  the  screens 
in  the  windows.  He  could  even  smell  the  warm 
scent  of  the  earth,  mingled  with  the  more  subtle 
odor  of  flowers. 

Then  he  looked  about  the  cold,  cheerless  room, 
devoid  of  suitable  furnishings,  at  the  ugly,  rough, 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door       163 

unpainted  walls,  heard  the  cough  of  little  Ed 
ward  in  the  next  room,  and  his  heart  sickened  at 
the  change  in  their  affairs. 

"  Little  wife,"  he  said  sadly,  "  I  must  have 
been  mad,  plumb  mad,  to  think  of  changing  the 
life  we  led  for  any  other  on  earth.  Why,  my  lot 
was  happier  than  that  of  any  millionaire." 

Edgeington  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a 
heavy  heart.  Little  Edward's  cough,  which  had 
been  distressing  the  little  fellow  several  days, 
was  much  better,  but  the  depressing  influences 
among  which  he  had  lived  were  gradually  taking 
away  his  old-time  blithe  cheerfulness. 

So  consistent  had  he  been  with  the  principles 
of  his  party  that,  at  the  time  of  its  triumph,  he 
had  not  hesitated  to  be  among  the  first  to  turn 
his  property  over  to  the  state,  even  before  the 
official  demand  had  been  made. 

He  had  regretted,  as  much  as  did  any  man 
under  the  circumstances,  the  necessity  of  aban 
doning  his  home  in  the  suburbs.  This  regret  had 


164        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

been  intensified  ever  since  November,  when  he 
had  moved  his  family  into  the  Ajax,  where 
they  had  since  dwelt  amidst  its  noise,  suffering 
not  only  its  inconveniences,  but  its  quite  positive 
discomforts. 

In  the  morning  light  his  wife  looked  far  from 
well.  Her  eyes,  encircled  by  the  marks  of  worry 
and  fatigue,  burned  in  pale  cheeks. 

"  I  can't  go  down  to  breakfast  with  you  this 
morning,"  she  said;  "  I  must  look  after  the  chil 
dren. 

And  looking  down  into  her  anxious  eyes, 
Edgeington  found  his  conscience  smote  him  as 
though  he  were  responsible  for  it  all. 

As  he  took  his  place  in  the  large  dining  room, 
the  monotony  and  cheerlessness  of  the  big  place, 
combined  with  his  anxiety  for  the  boy's  welfare 
and  the  recollection  of  his  wife's  weariness,  de 
pressed  him  unspeakably,  and  he  grew  heartsick 
for  the  snug  little  cottage  in  the  suburbs. 

A  half-dozen  other  men  were  seated  at  the 
table  with  him. 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door       165 

"  Hello,  Edgeington,"  said  the  person  seated 
opposite  him,  of  a  stout  build,  with  greasy  face 
and  very  ill-kept  hands,  "  you  seem  to  have  a 
grouch  on  this  morning." 

It  was  the  same  old  story,  the  same  old  ex 
perience.  It  was  maddening:  to  eat  with  those 
who  noticed  if  one  were  quiet  or  merry,  and  to 
have  one's  moods  made  a  jest  of.  The  only  way 
to  escape  this  was  to  divert  questions  by  asking 
others. 

"  You're  early  this  morning,"  suggested  Edge 
ington. 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  have  some  sport  to-day. 
I'm  going  out  to  a  shooting  match.  I'm  going 
to  work  early  this  morning.  Three  hours  a  day, 
you  know,  is  all  we  can  stand  in  the  rendering 
tanks  at  the  stockyards.  At  least  that's  what  the 
government  says.  Same  wages  as  you,  too,  and 
you  work  six  hours  a  day.  Say,  those  fellows 
who  took  clean  work  are  blamed  fools,  that's 
what  they  are.  Now,  I  had  sense  enough  to  stick 
to  my  trade.  Tending  to  by-products  has  always 


166        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

been  my  trade.  Lots  of  my  friends  thought 
they'd  quit.  The  more  fools,  them!  Preferred 
six  hours  a  day  heaving  up  concrete  to  nice  quiet 
work  cleaning  out  rendering  vats.  Why,  don't 
you  remember  they  said  at  first  there  was  lots  of 
work  too  dirty  for  any  man  to  do — unhealthy, 
they  said.  Pshaw!  Wouldn't  hurt  any  one 
that's  robust  like  me,  nor  lots  of  others,  neither. 
Lots  of  men  have  come  to  this  three-hour  job, 
who  never  did  work  afore  with  their  pretty 
hands,  and  they're  all  growing  fat  on  it.  Re 
member  when  we  Socialists  used  to  say  this 
work  was  too  disgusting  for  any  man  to  do? 
Oh,  Lord!" 

And  the  man  guffawed,  half  choking,  and  then 
smacked  his  lips,  as  he  bent  his  head  over 
the  table  and  greedily  helped  himself  to  more 
food. 

Edgeington  hurried  through  his  breakfast. 
This  sort  of  man  had,  by  1953,  almost  passed 
out  of  the  skilled  trades.  This  man  eating  away 
so  bestially,  seemed  an  anachronism.  Still,  it 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door       167 

was  surprising,  with  one's  choice  of  associates 
practically  eliminated,  what  a  surprisingly  large 
number  of  peculiarly  unpleasant  persons  rubbed 
elbows  with  one  everywhere,  in  the  most  intimate 
way. 

A  harsh-featured  woman,  with  unkempt  hair, 
sat  down  at  that  moment  next  to  Edgeington. 
Picking  up  her  napkin,  she  ran  it  over  the  plate; 
then  proceeded  to  wipe  knife  and  fork  with  the 
cloth. 

"  See  here,"  she  called  sharply,  to  the  waiter. 

At  first  he  openly  disregarded  her,  but  as  she 
insistently  raised  her  voice,  he  reluctantly  was 
forced  to  heed  her  call. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  snapped. 

"  The  plates  and  things  are  not  clean,"  the 
woman  protested,  holding  up  the  napkin,  grimy 
from  its  recent  service. 

"  I  can't  help  it.  What  do  you  people  expect  ? 
If  you  don't  like  it  you  can  go  and  kick  to  some 
one  in  the  kitchen.  The  girls'll  most  likely  throw 
you  out,  though,  if  you  do,"  he  added,  grinning 


168         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

impudently.  "  They're  on  to  you.  They  know 
you're  the  worst  trouble  maker  we've  got. 
That's  why  your  things  are  so  dirty,  if  you  want 
to  know." 

"  I'll  report  you,"  the  woman  blustered. 

"Report?  Oh,  yes,"  he  yawned.  "Who'll 
you  report  to?  You  can't  come  that  over  me. 
The  super  stands  in  well  with  the  boss.  He 
knows  enough  not  to  monkey  with  his  con 
stituents,  he  does." 

"  Come,  come,"  protested  Edgeington,  "  why 
can't  you  be  half-civil,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Ah,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  I'm  civil 
enough  if  people  will  only  let  me  alone." 

But  Edgeington  saw  it  was  useless  to  try  to 
interfere  here. 

Certainly  this  day  had  had  a  bad  beginning. 
He  did  not  relish  the  thought  of  the  work  before 
him.  This  business  of  driving  about  from  place 
to  place  in  vans,  seizing  furniture  and  ousting 
tenants  in  spite  of  their  protests,  was  not  the 
sort  of  thing  he  had  bargained  would  be  a  part 


The  Disturbance  Next  Door       169 

of  his  duties.  With  misery  everywhere,  neither 
at  work  nor  away  from  it  could  he  find  happi 
ness. 

He  was  more  depressed,  more  sick  at  heart, 
more  uncertain  as  to  the  future  of  himself  and 
family  than  ever  he  had  been  in  the  days  of 
"  wage  slavery."  He  was  finding  the  state  far 
more  of  an  oppressor  than  ever  he  had  found 
any  private  employer. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  RED  CARD 

S~\  N  the  very  next  morning — the  morning  fol 
lowing  Seebar's  call — the  official  notice  that 
required  Faverall  Markham  to  report  at  the 
Government  Employment  Bureau  to  have  his 
position  as  a  "  productive  citizen,"  assigned  to 
him,  came.  It  was  a  square,  red  envelope,  stiff 
and  hard,  that  was  delivered  into  his  hands. 

His  fingers  trembled  as  they  fumbled  in  a 
futile  attempt  to  tear  the  tough  paper.  He  was 
obliged  finally  to  use  his  pocket  knife.  It  was 
strange — so  he  himself  thought — that  he  should 
be  agitated  thus,  for  he  knew  just  what  were  the 
contents.  The  card,  official  summons  to  labor, 
was  also  stiff  and  red — red  to  denote  the  uni 
versal  brotherhood  of  man. 

With  a  sigh,  he  dropped  the  card  on  the  table, 

and  turned  to  gaze  at  himself  in  the  glass.     He 
170 


The  Red  Card  171 

saw  there  a  pair  of  strong,  gray  eyes — bearing 
a  defiant  look, — as  if  at  bay, — shadowed  by  gray 
brows.  The  head  was  tossed  back. 

Himself  scarcely  conscious  of  the  fact,  he  was 
meeting  fortune  in  his  customary  determined, 
self-reliant  way.  He  had  no  regrets  for  his 
peremptory  refusal  of  Seebar's  offer  of  assist 
ance.  He  sought  not,  neither  would  he  accept, 
pity  or  favors. 

But  he  was  glad  that  Dorothy  was  not  present 
just  then.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  softened.  His 
heart  and  will  were  hard  and  stern,  and  he  was 
thankful  for  it. 

Carefully,  as  carefully  as  if  he  were  about  to 
preside  at  a  directors'  meeting,  he  arranged  his 
toilet.  Thrusting  the  red  card  into  his  pocket, 
he  set  his  silk  hat  upon  his  head,  and,  as  a  finish 
ing  touch,  flicked  away  a  bit  of  dust  hitherto 
overlooked.  Then  he  descended  to  the  street. 

One  could  not  be  wholly  unhappy  that  day. 
The  spring  atmosphere  lay  upon  the  city,  soft 
and  buoyant.  The  sun  was  beating  in  a  mild 


172         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

warmth  upon  the  pavements,  the  streets  were 
alive  with  people — that  holiday  throng  which  at 
first  had  been  a  marvel  to  Faverall  Markham  too, 
as  well  as  to  Dorothy,  so  startling  had  been  the 
contrast  with  the  city  of  what  seemed  but  yes 
terday.  And  still  everywhere  men  were  at  work 
upon  the  buildings,  while  the  pavements  and  gut 
ters  were  littered  with  materials.  It  was  as  if 
all  these  sky-piercers  had  been  erected  simul 
taneously  and  the  finishing  touches  were  now 
being  put  upon  them. 

It  was  a  ten-minute  walk  to  the  Employment 
Bureau  and  in  his  interest  in  the  scenes  of  the 
street  Mr.  Markham  had  almost  forgotten  his 
relation  to  the  world  of  easy  bustle  around  him. 
For  the  time  being  he  was  as  an  alien  viewing  a 
strange  land.  And  then  suddenly  a  section  of 
the  government  buildings  loomed  up  before  him, 
and  he  had  passed  between  the  big  swinging  doors 
into  the  corridor. 

Instantly  the  cheer  of  the  morning  fell  from 
him.  The  air  was  stale  and  heavy,  and  the  yel- 


The  Red  Card  173 

low  sullen  glow  of  artificial  light  took  the  place 
of  the  light  of  the  sun. 

The  offices  of  the  Government  Employment 
Bureau  were  on  the  third  floor.  He  entered  the 
elevator  with  a  step  that  had  lost  the  buoyancy  of 
a  few  moments  ago. 

As  Mr.  Markham  opened  the  door  of  the  re 
ception  room,  he  was  surprised  at  the  large 
number  of  people  there,  evidently  on  the  same 
mission  with  himself.  The  benches  and  chairs 
were  filled  with  men  and  women,  and  a  host  of 
others  found  standing  room  against  the  walls. 
There  must  have  been  some  two  hundred  and 
fifty  ahead  of  his  turn. 

Behind  a  breast-high  partition — that  ran  the 
length  of  the  room, — broken  here  and  there  to 
make  place  for  a  swinging  gate,  stood  a  dozen 
government  clerks  attending  to  the  wants  of  the 
visitors. 

Mr.  Markham  presently  discovered  that  the 
great  majority  were  not  there  in  answer  to  a 
summons  to  "  productive  labor,"  but  that  they 


174         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

were  desirous  of  changing  their  particular  kind 
or  place  of  employment. 

It  was  not  at  all  an  anxious  looking  crowd. 
Here,  too,  the  holiday  atmosphere  prevailed. 
None  of  the  nervous  toying  with  pencils,  or  beat 
ing  of  ringers,  or  moistening  of  lips,  or  eager 
scanning  of  the  "  want  ad."  columns  such  as  Mr. 
Markham  might  have  observed  in  employment 
bureau  offices  not  so  long  ago.  There  was  a 
peace,  a  tranquillity,  in  the  manner  and  on  the 
faces  of  men  and  women,  that,  speaking  well  as 
it  did  for  their  trust  in  the  new  system,  should 
have  been  alarming  rather  than  reassuring. 
They  were  too  satisfied,  even  in  their  discontent. 
They  were  too  manifestly  throwing  individual 
troubles  upon  the  state  in  a  lump.  No  man's 
troubles  were  his  own.  He  felt  that  they  were 
the  state's. 

"  So  I  said  to  the  boss,"  one  man  was  remark 
ing  confidentially  to  the  clerk  and  to  all  others 
within  a  range  of  twenty  feet,  who  cared  to 
listen,  "  '  Now,  look  here,  old  man,  we  elected  you 


The  Red  Card  175 

superintendent  because  we  thought  you  was  a 
good  fellow  and  considerate,  and  not  likely  to 
put  on  airs,  and  here  you  go  ordering  me  to  shift 
them  bolts  as  though  I  was  a  nigger  under  a 
contract  boss.  I  get  my  time  right  here,'  I  says, 
and  I  did,  too." 

"  Number  185,"  called  the  clerk,  and  then  Mr. 
Markham  suddenly  realized  that  he  had  not  se 
cured  a  number. 

"  Down  there,"  answered  one  of  those  who 
were  waiting,  in  response  to  his  question,  point 
ing  to  a  uniformed  individual  lounging  near  the 
door. 

"  Here,  my  man,  you  didn't  give  me  a  ticket," 
Mr.  Markham  protested.  A  score  or  more  of 
persons  had  since  followed  his  entrance. 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  ask  for  one?  I  ain't 
supposed  to  chase  you  fellows  around  handing 
out  tickets,"  and  the  man,  with  middle  finger  and 
thumb,  shot  a  card  across  the  desk  upon  the 
floor. 

The  flush  that  swept  over  the  old  man's  face 


176        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

was  not  due  entirely  to  the  efforts  of  picking  up 
the  bit  of  cardboard. 

As  he  straightened  up  again  the  official  smiled 
half-insolently.  "  Can4  got  away  from  you  that 
time,  eh,  governor  ?  " 

The  flush  on  Mr.  Markham's  face  deepened 
as  he  turned  away. 

The  world  had  indeed  changed,  changed  in 
credibly  in  the  past  few  months.  Such  little 
stings  seemed  to  hurt  him  more  than  the  more 
vital  results  of  the  Great  Change  itself. 

In  spite  of  the  leisurely,  time-taking  service  of 
the  clerks,  his  number  was  called  at  last,  and  he 
presented  the  red  card  he  had  received  in  the 
mail  that  morning. 

A  blank  was  presented  him  to  fill  out.  It  was 
a  huge  sheet  of  paper  containing  a  multitude  of 
questions  to  be  answered.  There  was  a  line  for 
his  age,  his  residence,  whether  single  or  married, 
his  past  occupation,  what  the  income  had  been, 
what  occupation  the  applicant  wished  to  take  up 
now,  etc.,  etc. 


The  Red  Card  177 

"  As  to  the  occupation  I  wish  to  take  up  now, 
that  is  beyond  me  to  state,"  said  Mr.  Markham, 
appealing  to  the  clerk.  "  Manager  of  a  depart 
ment,  or  even  of  one  of  the  workshops  of  one 
of  the  Western  Steel  Mills,  is,  I  suppose,  out  of 
the  question." 

"  Why,  yes,  all  such  offices  are  elective  now. 
You  were  employed  there  once  ?  " 

"Yes,  once." 

And  then  the  clerk,  looking  once  more  at  the 
name  written  on  the  question  blank,  glanced  back 
to  Mr.  Markham. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Markham,"  he  began  in  a  gently 
suggestive  tone,  "  that  you  had  better  apply  for 
a  clerkship  in  the  office." 

"  I  see  no  other  way,  myself."  And  Mr. 
Markham  picked  up  the  pen  and  wrote  opposite 
the  question — "  Position  now  wanted,"  the 
words,  "  Clerk  in  the  Western  Steel  Mills."  Just 
above  was  the  question,  "  former  occupation," 
and  the  answer,  "  Manufacturer,  owner  of  the 
Western  Steel  Mills." 


178        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

In  some  subtle  way  the  information  had 
reached  the  waiting  throng  that  the  gray-haired 
man  turning  from  the  desk  to  the  door  was 
Faverall  Markham,  the  famous  steel  manufac 
turer. 

Some  one  said  in  a  loud,  penetrating  whisper, 
"  I'm  glad  I  never  was  a  millionaire." 

Some  one  laughed  in  answer. 

And  then  the  subject  of  their  comment,  with 
an  aching  bitterness  in  his  heart,  closed  the  door, 
with  a  feeling  of  relief,  upon  the  vulgar  curiosity, 
and  pity  as  vulgar,  of  those  within. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MR.    MARKHAM    GOES    TO    THE    STEEL 

MILLS  AND  DOROTHY  FINDS 

EMPLOYMENT 

/T"*HE  Western  Steel  Mills  were  south  of 
Chicago,  beyond  the  corporate  limits  of  the 
city.  By  day  they  showed  in  the  distance;  a 
great  line  of  smoke-stacks  against  the  sky-line, 
with  a  huge  cloud  of  murky  vapors, — of  their 
own  creation — ever  streaming  lakeward  or  in 
land  as  the  breezes  chanced  to  blow.  At  night 
the  clouds  above  them  flashed  like  heat  lightning, 
as  from  time  to  time  flame  shot  up  and  quivered. 

It  was  a  strange,  mysterious  world  of  itself, 
regarded  with  awe  by  those  afar  off,  by  those 
who  dwelt  immediately  at  hand  as  a  means  of 
livelihood. 

On    the    eve    of    the    Great  Change,    secret 

processes  were  still  employed  in  the  manufacture 
179 


180        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

of  certain  grades  of  steel,  and  all  parts  of  the 
huge  plant  were  not  open  to  the  inspection  of  the 
public.  But  most  of  the  evils  of  the  old  days  had 
passed  away — the  scalding  of  men  in  converters 
of  molten  metal,  the  terrible  burns  and  scars,  from 
contact  with  white-hot  metal — the  blindness  from 
flying  drops  of  liquid  steel,  or  burning  chips  of 
the  "  frozen "  metal.  These  legends  still  per 
sisted,  though  for  over  twenty  years  the  most 
effective  safeguards  had  been  provided, — new 
devices  had  been  invented,  and,  according  to 
those  who  professed  to  know,  a  man  was  scarcely 
able  to  receive  an  injury,  unless  with  wanton  in 
tent  of  himself  or  another. 

In  addition  to  the  manufacture  of  steel  itself, 
implements  of  various  sorts  also  were  made  here. 

In  connection  with  these  industries  a  business 
office  was  of  course  essential.  Even  under  the 
Socialist  regime,  in  addition  to  the  workers  en 
gaged  in  the  actual  and  immediate  production  of 
the  goods  themselves,  a  force,  merely  clerical, 
was  necessary  for  their  distribution. 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       181 

In  these  offices  it  was,  then,  that  Faverall 
Markham  had  applied  for  and  secured  employ 
ment. 

How  strange  it  all  seemed  to  him — yet  how 
familiar,  too — the  first  morning  he  approached  the 
steel  plant  in  the  capacity  of  a  mere  employee, 
instead  of  chief  stockholder  and  president.  It 
was  near  nine  o'clock,  an  hour  later  than  the 
men  had  come  to  work  not  yet  a  year  back. 
Already  the  working  day  had  shrunk  an  hour. 
The  thousands  of  workers  were  arriving,  bearing 
down  upon  the  hundred  entrances  in  a  vast,  loose, 
disorganized  army.  No  dinner  pails  glistened 
in  the  morning  sun.  The  state  furnished  all 
employees  their  noon-day  lunch. 

But  a  few  rods  away,  Lake  Michigan  rolled 
eastward  in  a  green  flood.  The  waves  leaped 
and  flashed  under  the  morning  sun.  In  the  har 
bor  lay  half  a  dozen  of  the  long  black  craft  that, 
ore-laden,  could  make  their  fifty  miles  an  hour. 

The  huge  buildings  sprawled  in  a  mighty  clus 
ter,  their  buttresses  and  angles  and  projections 


i8a         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

like  so  many  ill- formed  and  warped  but  powerful 
muscles  of  a  myriad-bodied  monster.  For  all 
this  the  blue  sky  formed  a  background  showing 
between  the  stacks,  which  resembled  nothing  so 
much  as  a  row  of  huge,  ugly  fingers  outstretched. 

Strange  all  this  seemed  to  Faverall  Markham 
now — as  strange  as  it  had  seemed  to  him  when, 
a  boy,  he  had  first  looked  upon  the  Western 
Steel  Mills.  He  was  but  fourteen  then,  a  scared, 
shrinking  youngster,  with  his  little  shiny  dinner 
pail  clutched  tight  in  his  fist.  His  father  had 
died  but  recently  before  that,  and  he  had  been 
called  upon  to  help  support  his  mother  and 
sisters. 

He  recalled  how  he  had  come  as  early  as  seven 
o'clock  and  had  stood  outside  the  silent  mills,  in 
the  deserted  street.  He  had  tried  timidly  first 
one  door  and  then  another,  but  had  found  all 
locked.  Then  he  had  sat  down  to  wait  in  the  sun, 
filtering  the  coke  from  the  flooring  of  the  yards 
nervously  between  his  fingers.  Suddenly  the 
streets  had  been  alive  with  the  voices  and  feet  of 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       183 

men,  and  then  had  come  the  rushing,  jogging 
throng, — half-running,  and  he  had  been  swept, 
hardly  more  than  a  child,  through  the  gates  and 
into  the  works. 

Now,  over  forty  years  later,  the  act  of  his 
boyhood  was  being  repeated.  Few  men  would 
care  to  live  their  lives  over  a  second  time  in  the 
way  once  lived.  The  zest  of  living  seems  to  be 
in  the  possibilities  of  the  future. 

As  this  morning  Faverall  Markham  repeated 
the  act  of  nearly  half  a  century  back,  the  terrible 
reality  of  his  situation  came  home  to  him.  Again 
he  was  swept  in  through  the  gates,  dazed  this 
time,  not  from  the  bewilderment  of  the  unknown, 
but  by  too  close  and  too  intent  recognition  of  the 
familiar. 

In  the  general  coat  room  on  the  second  floor, 
connected  with  the  offices,  he  hung  up  his  hat 
like  any  other  employee.  In  this  same  building 
only  eight  months  before  he  had  presided  at  a 
directors'  meeting.  That  was  at  the  time  of  the 
semi-annual  visit  and  inspection  by  these  officials. 


184        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Now  he  was  a  mere  clerk,  of  far  less  importance 
than  any  of  the  superintendents  who  then  had 
reported  to  him.  Indeed,  as  he  presently  learned, 
few  of  these  old  superintendents  had  retained 
their  positions.  A  vote  of  the  employees  had 
swept  them  away. 

In  the  department  in  which  Faverall  Markham 
found  himself  placed,  a  young  fellow,  perhaps 
twenty-seven  years  of  age,  named  McDurgen, 
was  foreman.  His  hair  was  red,  neatly  parted  in 
the  middle,  and  coming  down  over  his  forehead 
in  a  sort  of  curl  on  either  side.  That  was  the 
first  thing  Mr.  Markham  observed  about  the  man. 
It  was  the  first  thing  any  one  observed  about  him. 
Indeed,  those  two  wisps  of  reddish  hair  stood  out 
on  his  pale  forehead  like  horns  of  fire. 

But  this  feature  was  presently  obscured  by 
another  one,  more  pronounced,  more  insistent, 
even,  if  not  at  first  so  conspicuous.  This  was  his 
overbearing  insolence.  His  eyes  lighted  up  at  the 
name  on  the  application  card  that  was  presented 
him. 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       185 

"  Humph,"  he  said,  picking  up  the  card,  "  do 
you  think  you  can  do  the  work?  "  He  blew  on 
the  edge  with  a  sharp  whistling  sound  while  he 
eyed  the  man  before  him  in  a  domineering 
fashion. 

"  Young  man,"  replied  Mr.  Markham,  sharply, 
"  I  created  this  department." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  that, "  McDurgen  began 

to  interrupt  with  impatient  assurance,  but  Mr. 
Markham  went  on : 

"  Neither  am  I  accustomed  to  being  treated 
superciliously  by  underbred  young  upstarts." 

McDurgen's  eyes  fell  before  the  stern  gaze  of 
the  old  man.  He  let  the  latter  pass  to  his  desk 
without  further  word.  Yet  there  was  a  look  in 
his  eyes,  when  he  once  more  raised  them,  that 
presaged  trouble. 

There  had  grown  up  in  the  Western  Steel  Mills 
a  complicated  system  with  reference  to  delays  or 
errors  in  the  shipment  of  goods.  When  the  data 
were  incomplete  and  a  letter  asking  for  particu 
lars  had  been  mailed  the  complainant,  all  neces- 


1 86        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

sary  papers  were  filed  for  a  period  of  from  five  to 
fifteen  days.  The  correspondence  would  be 
marked,  "  Casket  5  days,"  "  Casket  10  days,"  etc., 
at  the  end  of  which  time  these  data  would  auto 
matically  be  produced.  Some  abuses,  due  to  in 
dolence  and  inefficiency  on  the  part  of  the  em 
ployees,  had  crept  in.  Cases  that  should  have 
been  disposed  of  at  once  were  often  consigned 
to  the  casket. 

With  the  coming  of  the  Socialistic  regime  these 
abuses  ran  riot,  and  though  there  were  not  so 
many  cases  to  handle  as  in  the  old  days,  the 
caskets  were  filled  with  neglected  ones.  More 
over,  though  the  office  force  had  been  consider 
ably  augmented,  little  work  was  done.  A  man 
could  hardly  be  discharged.  The  government  had 
to  find  work  for  every  individual,  deserving  or 
otherwise. 

Though  ownership  of  the  plant  had  passed 
absolutely  out  of  his  hands,  probably  forever; 
though  the  failure  of  the  Socialist  system  tended 
to  his  advantage,  the  reckless,  inefficient  methods 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       187 

of  handling  the  business  of  the  department  grated 
upon  Faverall  Markham's  business  ideals. 

He  brought  the  matter  to  McDurgen's  atten 
tion. 

"  Oh,"  said  McDurgen  smoothly,  "  so  you're 
determined  to  find  fault  with  our  Socialist  ways 
of  doing  things,  are  you?  I  thought  you  Capital 
ists  wouldn't  keep  quiet  long  without  poking  your 
fingers  about  trying  to  discredit  the  new  system. 
No,  sir,"  he  continued,  raising  his  voice  so  that 
the  men  at  the  desks  all  around  them  could  hear, 
"  I'll  listen  to  no  charges  against  any  man  here. 
If  you  don't  like  the  fellows  here  tell  them  so,  or 
get  out.  It's  none  of  my  business  what  your 
relations  are  to  the  others  here." 

Mr.  Markham  drew  back,  incredulity  and  in 
dignation  in  his  eyes. 

"  But  I  am  making  no  charges  against  any 
one,"  he  said;  "  I  merely  suggested " 

"  Keep  your  suggestions  to  yourself.  I  want 
nothing  from  you." 

And  the  young  man  went  on  writing  one  of 


1 88         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

the  private  letters  he  spent  much  of  his  time  in 
composing. 

The  veins  swelled  in  Mr.  Markham's  forehead. 
His  lips  tightened  and  his  fists  clenched. 

McDurgen  had  turned  the  situation,  turned  it 
cleverly.  Mr.  Markham  could  not  help  but  admit 
that.  He  had  made  it  appear  to  all  that  he  had 
lodged  some  sort  of  a  complaint  against  one,  if 
not  more,  of  the  men.  What  McDurgen's  pur 
pose  was  in  doing  this  he  could  not  imagine.  It 
showed  him  one  fact,  however,  and  a  fact  indeed 
most  startling — that  the  government  had  every 
man  who  might  be  considered  its  enemy,  at  its 
mercy.  A  man  could  not  be  thrown  out  of  em 
ployment,  but  life  could  be  made  unendurable. 

As  Faverall  Markham  realized  this,  the  anger 
died  slowly  out,  leaving  his  face  a  bit  old  and  tired. 
Silently  he  resumed  his  seat  at  his  desk,  and  it 
was  with  a  trembling  hand  that  he  continued  at 
his  work. 

There  have  been  practised  innumerable  methods 
of  persecution, — some  rough,  some  subtle, — since 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       189 

the  world  began.  The  rougher  methods  often 
merely  irritate  and  render  defiant  the  victims. 
The  finer  methods  insinuate  themselves  into  the 
soul  and  slowly  eat  the  core  away. 

McDurgen  in  dealing  with  Mr.  Markham  now 
adopted  the  latter  method,  in  contrast  with  the 
more  open  hostility  of  the  men.  The  adjusting 
office  of  the  Western  Steel  Works  now  became 
to  the  old  man  a  living  hell.  Toward  Faverall 
Markham,  McDurgen  assumed  a  mock  respect 
and  pity  that  in  reality  bordered  on  insolence  to 
the  point  of  driving  one  mad.  He  professed  to 
consult  the  ex-owner  on  various  points,  asked  his 
advice  on  this  and  that,  and  in  short,  brought 
home  to  him  constantly  the  great  gulf  between 
his  past  and  present  life.  And  then,  when  he  felt 
he  had  scored  a  point,  McDurgen  would  shut  his 
thin  lips  down  upon  his  large  teeth  in  a  sup 
pressed  grin  as  his  eyes  wandered  for  approval 
over  his  constituents. 

The  policy  of  the  men  was  different.  The 
majority  of  them  left  the  ex-steel  magnate 


190        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

severely  alone.  It  was  the  silence  of  contempt — 
contempt  for  one  who  they  believed  had  spoken 
against  them.  There  were  several  of  the  jackal 
pack,  however,  who  could  not  resist  the  oppor 
tunity  to  bait  the  fallen  lion.  This  they  did  by 
the  exchange  between  themselves  of  broad,  jovial 
remarks.  And  one  young  fool  used  to  leer  in 
his  face  with  a  facetious  gesture  whenever  he 
passed  the  desk  of  the  old  man. 

Though  he  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  Dorothy, 
she  quickly  discerned  that  some  heavy  cloud  lay 
upon  him.  She  made  no  comment,  however,  for 
some  time.  Then  one  afternoon  as  he  came  home 
unusually  pale  and  heavy-eyed,  she  could  no 
longer  forego  questioning  him. 

"  Nothing,  nothing  at  all  is  the  matter,  dear," 
Mr.  Markham  hastily  answered,  kissing  her  again 
and  again  in  his  desire  to  stifle  further  interroga 
tion. 

Seeing  that  she  only  pained  and  embarrassed 
him,  she  pressed  the  matter  no  further.  Instead, 
she  introduced  a  new  subject.  "  What  do  you 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       191 

think,  daddy  dear,"  she  went  on,  her  blue  eyes 
warming  with  a  happy  light,  "  I'm  going  to 
work,  too." 

Mr.  Markham  turned  still  whiter.  He  saw  a 
picture  of  his  child,  always  protected  and  guarded 
like  a  delicate  plant,  thrown  into  some  such  heart 
less  atmosphere  as  he  himself  was  compelled  to 
endure.  The  very  thought  of  it  wrung  his  soul 
with  anguish. 

"  Oh,  Dorothy,  I  cannot  let  you  go  to  work," 
he  exclaimed  at  last. 

She  was  perplexed.  "  Why,  father,  what  is 
there  so  terrible  about  that?  Something  must 

be  worrying  you  awfully  to  make "  and  then 

recollecting  herself,  she  stopped.  "  Sit  right 
down  here  beside  me  and  let  me  explain.  Now  you 
know  how  very,  very  kind  Mr.  Bornheim  has  been. 
Well,  he  has  friends  on  the  Committee  of  Art, 
and  this  committee  decides  whom  the  state  shall 
support  while  paintings  and  statues  are  being 
produced.  And  I've  been  appointed  one  of  these 
state  artists.  I'm  to  receive  a  salary  or  pension 


192         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

or  whatever  it  is  called,  for  six  whole  months. 
Then  there's  to  be  an  art  exhibit  and  an  award, 
and  the  successful  contestants  are  to  be  appointed 
permanently — now,  then,  what's  so  terrible  about 
all  that,  father?  Why,  you're  trembling.  Oh, 
you  poor,  dear  man!  Come,  come,  daddy  dear, 
do  tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

But  Mr.  Markham  repeated  his  assurances. 
"  It's  nothing,  Dorothy,  nothing." 

Later  in  the  evening  Faverall  Markham  sought 
out  Bornheim  and  thanked  him  for  his  efforts  in 
behalf  of  his  daughter. 

"  I  wish  I  might  do  something  for  you,  also, 
Mr.  Markham,"  said  Bornheim,  "  but  in  most 
quarters  I  have  little  influence,  very  little  influ 
ence  indeed." 

If  Mr.  Markham  had  not  been  so  wrapped  up 
in  his  troubles  he  might  have  been  more  careful 
to  note  Bornheim's  bearing  toward  Dorothy. 
The  girl  also,  at  times,  observed  the  man  with 
some  uneasiness.  It  was  not  that  he  was  not 
respectful,  most  deferential,  even,  but  there  was 


Dorothy  Finds  Employment       193 

something  in  his  bearing  toward  her  that  had  not 
been  apparent  in  the  other  men  she  had  known. 
She  could  not  help  contrasting  this  with  the  feel 
ing  of  absolute  security  and  trust  she  had  felt  in 
Seebar's  presence. 

Security!  The  word  had  come  to  her  un 
consciously.  What  had  she  to  be  afraid  of  in 
the  man?  He  had  been  kind,  more  than  kind. 
He  had  done  more  for  them,  far  more,  than 
Seebar  had  even  attempted  to  do  since  they  had 
been  evicted  from  Sheridan  Drive.  True,  she 
had  not  permitted  Seebar — but  then  why  should 
she  permit  him? — to  do  anything  for  them.  It 
occasionally  did  occur  to  Dorothy  that  Bornheim 
might  indeed  do  more  for  her  father  than  he  had 
done.  His  services  were  too  much  for  her,  too 
little  for  him.  And  though  she  had  appealed  to 
the  politician  to  try  to  secure  for  her  father 
something  better  than  the  mere  clerkship  he  held, 
he  showed  a  strange  inability  to  make  use  of  his 
influence. 

But  relief  came  from  another  quarter.    At  least 


194        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

one  man  in  the  adjusting  office  of  the  Western 
Steel  Mills  had  a  heart. 

"  I  know  you  want  to  get  away  from  here,"  he 
said  kindly,  noting  the  old  man's  bent  head  and 
the  tired  weary  look  in  the  eyes.  "  If  I  were 
you  I'd  apply  to  the  Employment  Bureau  for  a 
change  of  occupation." 

It  had  been  one  of  Faverall  Markham's  ideals 
that  the  business  should  be  thoroughly  concen 
trated,  that  even  the  offices  should  be  situated  in 
the  same  group  of  buildings  where  the  actual 
manufacturing  went  forward. 

And  thus  it  was  that  he  passed  from  the  adjust 
ing  department  of  the  Western  Steel  Works  to 
the  shops  of  the  plant,  where  bolts  and  screws 
and  similar  bits  of  finished  iron  were  turned  out. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  SHOP  DIVIDED  AGAINST    ITSELF 


/T^HE  smell  of  oil  was  in  the  air.  The  oil 
oozed  slowly  in  thick,  viscid  streams  over 
the  lathes,  turning  so  leisurely  that  they  seemed 
almost  at  rest.  But  overhead  the  smooth,  worn 
belts  whirred  briskly. 

The  building  was  a  single-story  one  of  con 
crete  and  steel.  Its  glass-covered  roof  sloped 
from  a  central  ridge.  In  appearance  it  was  not 
unlike  a  hot-house. 

In  just  such  a  place  as  this  Faverall  Markham 
had  served  his  apprenticeship.  He  remembered 
with  the  vivid  distinctness  of  but  yesterday  how 
he  had  crouched  at  the  door  in  half  fear,  half 
wonder  at  the  unaccustomed  scene. 

A  big  burly  workman  with  a  grizzled  beard, 

old  Steve  Harrington   (he  thought  of  the  man 
195 


196         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

now — long  since  dead — with  a  rush  of  gratitude) 
had  taken  him  kindly  by  the  shoulder  and  initiated 
him  into  his  simple  duties,  and  later  taught  him 
to  tend  the  machines. 

Now  he  was  back  to  this  again — an  old,  almost 
a  useless  man,  though  as  a  manager,  an  organizer, 
his  services  would  have  been  invaluable.  Cer 
tainly  Socialism,  so  far  as  concerned  adjusting  a 
man  to  the  right  occupation,  was  a  dismal  failure, 
at  least  up  to  the  present. 

Faverall  Markham  had  been  standing  at  his 
machine  for  perhaps  half  an  hour,  listening  to  the 
slight  click,  click  of  the  parts,  watching  the  rods 
and  sprockets  slowly  shift  in  their  bed  of  thick 
yellow  oil,  and  the  long  steel  shavings  gradually 
unwind,  while  at  intervals,  a  finished  nut  would 
drop  into  the  receptacle  prepared  for  it.  Sud 
denly  he  discovered  a  fellow-workman  at  his 
elbow. 

"  Who  are  you  for  ?  "  asked  he  in  a  low  voice, 
glancing  covertly  around,  as  if  fearful  of  being 
overheard. 


The  Shop  Divided  Against  Itself     197 

"  I  don't  understand/'  answered  Mr.  Mark- 
ham. 

His  questioner  was  a  well-built,  vigorous  look 
ing  fellow  of  perhaps  thirty-five,  with  a  quick, 
sharp  eye.  His  method  of  speaking  was  hasty 
and  impatient,  due,  probably,  as  much  to  his 
native  manner  as  to  present  circumstances. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  apparently  relieved,  "  I 
was  afraid  you'd  been  tampered  with  already. 
Remember,  if  the  foreman  asks  you  to  make  cer 
tain  promises,  don't  do  it.  Don't  do  it  at  least 
till  I've  talked  with  you  again."  And  he  was 
gone. 

Mr.  Markham's  gaze  followed  the  man  won- 
deringly,  and  then  he  looked  around  at  the  other 
workmen. 

The  men  in  the  shop  were  evidently  no  idlers. 
They  bent  to  their  tasks  as  though  they  felt 
responsibility,  and  were  interested  in  their  work, 
too.  As  he  stood,  overalled,  bare-armed,  with 
the  steady  whir  of  the  machine  sounding,  the 
click  of  the  falling  nuts,  the  swift  flashing  of  the 


198        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

belts  overhead, — all  these  things  began  to  get 
into  Mr.  Markham's  system.  He  felt  almost 
happy,  as  he  had  in  the  old  days,  over  his  task. 

"  Well,  and  so  Pete  Armstrong's  been  meddling 
with  you  already,  has  he?  " 

The  newcomer  was  the  foreman,  John  Bether- 
ing. 

Mr.  Markham  looked  at  a  splotch  of  grease  on 
the  back  of  his  hand,  and  deliberately  wiped  it 
off  on  his  new  blue  overalls  before  answering. 

"Why,  I  don't  know  what  you'd  call  it,"  he 
answered  slowly  and  guardedly.  "  I  couldn't 
make  out  at  all  what  he  was  talking  about." 

"  He's  a  trouble  maker,  that's  what  he  is,"  said 
the  foreman  fiercely.  "  He's  dead  sore  because 
I  was  elected  foreman  instead  of  him.  I  know 
you've  been  a  Capitalist  and  owner  of  these  mills, 
and  all  that,  but  we're  not  going  to  hold  that 
against  you  down  here.  I've  heard  something  of 
your  troubles  up  in  the  adjusting  department,  and 
the  boys  up  there  are  pretty  sore  at  you.  Now, 
if  you'll  promise  to  vote  for  me  in  the  next  elec- 


The  Shop  Divided  Against  Itself     199 

tion  I'll  see  to  it  that  you  get  treated  good  and 
white." 

Bethering  had  a  coarse,  bulldog  face  set  on  a 
thick  neck.  He  was  of  powerful  build,  of 
medium  height,  with  a  chest  of  great  breadth  and 
depth.  He  was  an  evil-looking  man,  take  him 
all  in  all,  and  Mr.  Markham  was  determined,  if 
he  could  possibly  avoid  it,  not  to  thrust  himself 
into  any  rivalry  that  might  exist  in  the  shops. 
He  looked  past  Bethering  and  saw  that  every  eye 
in  the  place  was  fixed  upon  them. 

"  If  you'd  explain  the  situation,"  he  began. 

"  It's  just  this  way,"  said  Bethering,  leaning 
against  a  pillar,  and  flecking  with  rapid,  reckless 
strokes  of  his  hand  a  flying  belt,  "  there's  a  lot 
of  fellows  in  here  that's  Anti-Socialists.  I  sur 
mise  you're  one,  but  that  don't  cut  any  figure 
just  now.  Then  there  are  some  of  the  boys  that 
don't  quite  like  me.  That  fellow  Pete  Arm 
strong's  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  damn  him! "  A 
vindictive  scowl  passed  over  Bethering's  face. 
"  He  ran  against  me  for  foreman,  and  got  licked. 


2oo        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

He's  sulking  now,  and  so  are  some  of  the  men. 
We're  sort  of  in  two  gangs  here.  Armstrong 
won't  give  in.  There's  another  election  in  about 
two  weeks  and  he  hopes  to  beat  me  then,  but  I'm 
going  to  make  it  hell  for  some  of  them  fellows. 
I'm  going  to  make  'em  quit.  I  won't  have  op 
position.  Now,"  suddenly  concluded  Bethering  in 
a  tone  dangerously  alluring  and  inviting,  "  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  you'll  vote  for  me  when  the 
pinch  comes.  Give  me  your  hand  on  it." 

And  he  had  grasped  the  limp  and  reluctant  hand 
of  his  listener  in  his  short,  strong  fingers. 

But  Mr.  Markham  was  not  to  be  so  entrapped. 
"  I  can't  promise  you  that,  now,  Mr.  Bethering," 
he  answered  with  decision.  "  Anyway,  why  can't 
I  be  a  neutral?  Why  can't  you  fellows  fight  it 
out  among  yourselves?  " 

"  Because  if  you  ain't  for  me  you're  against 
me,"  answered  Bethering  doggedly,  unconsciously 
paraphrasing  a  famous  utterance  nearly  two  thou 
sand  years  old.  "  I  won't  have  any  lukewarms  in 
my  shop.  You  promise  to  vote  for  me  or  you 


The  Shop  Divided  Against  Itself     201 

don't.     If  you  don't  it's  going  to  be  hell  for  you, 
you  can  bet  that,"  he  concluded,  and  turned  away. 

At  the  noon  lunch  hour,  Mr.  Markham  was 
again  approached  by  Armstrong.  "  Did  the  fore 
man  explain  things  to  you?  "  he  asked  grimly. 

"  He  told  me  there  was  trouble  in  the  shop 
and  asked  for  my  support." 

"  And  of  course  you  promised."  There  was 
a  positive  fierceness  in  the  words. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  sighed  Mr.  Markham. 

To  himself,  he  thought,  "  Why  couldn't  these 
men  leave  him  alone?  He  had  enough  troubles  of 
his  own  without  becoming  involved  in  the  pettiest 
of  Socialistic  politics." 

"  I  told  him,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  wanted  to 
remain  neutral." 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you  just  how  things  are,"  went 
on  Armstrong,  unheeding  the  plea  in  Mr.  Mark- 
ham's  last  words.  "  I  was  a  candidate  for  fore 
man,  and  I  fought  fair.  Now  this  fellow  Bether- 
ing,  like  a  fool,  began  to  gloat  over  us  fellows 
and  tried  to  make  life  miserable  for  the  Anti- 


2O2         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Socialists  who  had  voted  for  me.  He's  driven 
some  of  the  boys  out,  but  he's  afraid  to  do  much 
with  the  rest  of  them.  He'd  start  in  to  complain 
about  our  work,  but  there's  been  so  much  trans 
ferring  of  men  already,  and  they're  getting  tired 
of  it  higher  up.  Some  of  Bethering's  supporters 
are  getting  sore  at  him,  too.  He'll  be  down  and 
out  at  the  next  election,  and  he  knows  it.  The  way 
he's  acting  won't  do  him  any  good,  either.  He's 
just  digging  the  pit  deeper  for  himself.  We're 
going  to  drop  him  in — drop  him  good  and  hard, 
too.  You  think  over  what  I've  told  you,"  he 
concluded,  for  the  one  o'clock  gong  was  sound 
ing,  and  the  men  were  leisurely  resuming  their 
places.  "  I  don't  ask  you  to  promise  to  vote  for 
me.  I  know  where  your  vote  will  go,  though,  if 
you  don't  promise  to  vote  for  Bethering." 

As  he  returned  to  his  lathe,  Faverall  Markham 
could  not  help  contrasting  the  lack  of  discipline 
and  the  change  of  spirit  in  the  shop  since  he  had 
known  it.  Were  all  places  equally  bad?  In  one 
department  of  the  Western  Steel  Works  he  had 


The  Shop  Divided  Against  Itself     203 

found  a  shameless  inefficiency  and  waste  of  labor, 
with  a  domineering  foreman.  Here  in  the  shop 
he  had  found  a  place  divided  against  itself,  with 
open  hostility  between  a  large  portion  of  the 
workmen  and  the  foreman.  Here,  too,  he  had 
found  a  foreman  who  was  coarse,  insulting,  and 
incompetent. 

It  hurt,  hurt  more  than  he  cared  to  admit  even 
to  himself,  the  lack  of  consideration  he  had  re 
ceived.  So  far  as  his  influence  was  concerned, 
Faverall  Markham  was  dead  and  buried.  Even 
Armstrong,  whom  Mr.  Markham  felt  that  he 
could  like,  looked  upon  him  only  as  a  creature  for 
his  own  individual  ends.  And  these  were  the 
very  men  he  had  kept  employed — paid  them  their 
wages  in  full,  three  or  four  years  back,  when 
there  had  come  a  temporary  business  crisis — 
these  were  the  men  for  whom  he  had  provided  a 
pension  fund,  for  disability,  temporary  or  per 
manent,  and  for  old  age — these  were  the  men  for 
whom  he  had  built  model  cottages,  which  could 
be  purchased  at  cost  and  without  interest. 


204        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

He  felt  that  the  men  were  ungrateful,  shame 
fully  so.  He  did  not  care  so  much  for  that,  how 
ever.  It  was  the  lack  of  respect  and  consideration 
that  hurt. 

The  days  went  on  and  he  grew  to  know  the 
men.  He  knew  them  better  than  they  knew  them 
selves.  Why  shouldn't  he?  He  had  been  raised 
in  the  shops.  He  could  readily  read,  from  his 
past  experience,  their  views  and  opinions.  He 
began  presently  to  feel  that  he  was  becoming 
liked.  A  respect  that  he  had  longed  for  was 
growing.  If  he  had  refused  to  mingle  with  them, 
if  he  had  even  indicated  that  his  position  had 
once  been  superior  to  theirs,  the  men  would 
promptly  have  manifested  a  resentment,  keen  and 
effective.  Only  his  quiet  speech  and  natural 
dignity  marked  him  as  being  different  from  them 
selves.  He  had  no  complaints  to  offer,  no  re 
grets. 

Themselves  scarcely  aware  of  the  feeling, 
gradually  the  men  began  to  understand  the 
tremendous  tragedy  of  this  man's  life.  In  quiet 


The  Shop  Divided  Against  Itself     205 

ways,  with  little  touches  of  delicacy,  they  made 
him  realize  this.  Life  to  him  began  to  grow  not 
only  tolerable,  but  even  hopeful. 

But  still  there  was  a  thorn,  pricking,  irritating 
his  side — Bethering.  The  ease  with  which  Mr. 
Markham  seemed  to  have  entered  into  the  good 
graces  of  the  other  workmen  apparently  annoyed 
him.  Moreover,  he  had  not  yet  received  the 
promise  of  the  vote.  Day  by  day  his  manner  be 
came  more  insistent,  more  threatening. 

"  Look  here,  Markham,"  he  said  one  day,  clap 
ping  his  heavy  palm  on  the  older  man's  shoulder, 
and  staring  him  fixedly  in  the  eye,  "  you're  pretty 
thick  with  that  man  Armstrong  and  his  crowd. 
Are  you,  or  are  you  not  going  to  vote  for  me  ?  " 
And  he  jerked  the  shoulder  impatiently  with  his 
hand. 

Mr.  Markham  flushed  and  disengaged  himself 
from  the  detaining  clutch.  "  That's  my  business," 
he  responded  angrily.  "  Certainly,  you're  not 
adopting  the  best  procedure  to  get  it." 

Bethering  raised  his  fist.    A  wild  light  gleamed 


206        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

in  his  eye,  and  for  the  moment  it  seemed  as  though 
he  would  strike. 

Then,  with  a  harsh  laugh  not  pleasant  to  hear, 
his  fingers  slowly  relaxed.  "  You'll  regret  this," 
he  said. 

At  that  moment  Armstrong  walked  up. 

"  Go  back  to  your  machine,"  commanded 
Bethering. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  will,"  laughed  Armstrong, 
with  insolent  nonchalance.  "  I'll  be  boss  here  in 
a  few  days."  And  he  laughed  again,  but  the  light 
in  his  eye  was  not  altogether  of  amusement. 

Bethering  swallowed  the  insult  with  hard- 
staring  eyes.  He  did  not  answer,  but  turned 
away  as  if  in  doubt. 

"  Why  do  you  irritate  him  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Markham. 

"  I  can't  help  it.  I  like  to  draw  that  devilish 
glare  in  his  eye.  If  he  provokes  me  sufficiently, 
I'll  knock  him  down." 

Mr.  Markham  looked  after  the  broad  heaving 
shoulders  of  the  foreman  and  shook  his  head 


The  Shop  Divided  Against  Itself     207 

doubtfully.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  commented; 
"  I've  seldom  seen  a  more  powerful  man." 

"  My  reach  is  longer,  and  I'm  quicker,"  Arm 
strong  returned  confidently. 

"  Are  all  shops  like  this  ?  " 

"  Why,  this  is  a  model,"  answered  Armstrong. 
"  Over  on  State  Street  three  gangs  of  men  quit 
work  on  a  building  there  because  they  didn't  like 
the  foreman  they'd  elected.  They  demanded  that 
they  be  impeached  and  removed,  and  they  were. 
The  government  is  helpless.  It's  afraid  of  the 
people.  And  the  people  are  working  less  and  less 
and  getting  sore  because  they  don't  have  all  the 
luxuries  the  rich  had  before  the  Great  Change. 
I'm  told,  too,  that  the  farmers  are  not  planting 
much  of  a  crop.  They're  all  Anti-Socialists  in 
the  rural  regions,  you  know.  Things  are  going  to 
come  to  a  pretty  pass,  I  tell  you.  I'm  a  Socialist, 
but  I  believe  a  mistake  was  made  in  forcing  the 
system  upon  the  country  at  this  time  or  at  any 
other  time,  for  that  matter.  You  can't  force  an 
economic  system.  It's  got  to  grow.  Politics 


2o8        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

should  have  little  to  do  with  it.  This  thing,"  he 
added  very  earnestly,  "  is  going  to  end  in  revolu 
tion,  but  I  haven't  time  to  think  of  that  now. 
My  chief  end  in  life,"  Armstrong  concluded 
lightly,  "  is  to  effect  the  overthrow  of  the 
usurper." 

Reflecting  upon  what  Armstrong  had  told  him, 
Mr.  Markham  was  troubled.  But  chiefly  was  he 
troubled  by  Bethering's  threats. 


HP  HAT  afternoon  Dorothy  met  her  father  with 
her  usual  smile  and  kiss,  but  there  was  a 
happier  glow  than  ordinarily  upon  her  face. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  shoving  him  into  his  large 
easy-chair — the  quarters  provided  for  them  by 
the  government  were  certainly  very  pleasant — 
and  seating  herself  on  the  arm,  "  what  do  you 
think  ?  I  have  a  studio." 

"A  studio?" 

"  A  real  studio.  It's  on  the  top  floor  of  the 
old  Russian  Exchange  Building.  It's  'way,  'way 
up,  I  know,"  she  said  hastily,  "  but  then  it  is  easy 
to  reach  by  elevator.  Mr.  Bornheim  is  so  kind 
— Why,  father,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"Nothing,  nothing,  child;  did  I  look  dif 
ferent  ?  " 

"  Yes,   indeed  you  did.     You  scowled  most 
209 


2io        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

positively,  when  I  mentioned  Mr.  Bornheim. 
Now,  what  have  you  against  kind,  good-hearted 
Mr.  Bornheim?  " 

Mr.  Markham  did  not  answer  the  question. 
Instead,  he  put  one  himself.  "  I  am  to  under 
stand  that  it  is  through  the  good  offices  of  Mr. 
Bornheim  that  you  secured  this  studio  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes." 

"  It  is  indeed  very  kind  of  Mr.  Bornheim, 
but " 

"But  what?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  Dorothy.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Mr.  Bornheim  may  be  all  that  you  think  he  is. 
Now,  go  on?" 

"  Well,"  resumed  Dorothy,  still,  however,  with 
a  half-dubious  look.  "  It's  a  little  room — oh,  such 
a  cute  little  room.  It's  so  quiet  and  still  and  re 
mote.  There's  one  thing  I  wish,  though,"  she 
added  in  a  tone  of  regret.  "  I  wish  that  some 
of  the  other  artists  had  studios  up  there,  too." 

"Dolly!"  The  sharpness  in  the  tone  half 
alarmed  the  girl.  "  Excuse  me  for  the  question, 


The  Doubtful  Gift  211 

but  don't  you  think  Mr.  Bornheim  is  doing  a 
little  too  much  for  you  ?  " 

"  Because  he's  obtained  the  little  studio  for 
me?" 

"  Partly  because  of  that,  and  partly  because  of 
other  things." 

"Well,  but,  father,  why  shouldn't  he  do  this? 
He  evidently  takes  an  interest  in  me." 

"  No  doubt,"  replied  Mr.  Markham  dryly. 

Dorothy  was  silent. 

"  Now,  why  should  he  take  an  interest  in  you  ? 
Either  he's  in  love  with  you  or  he's  doing  this 
because  of  friendship  for  Seebar.  Presuming,  of 
course,"  he  added  slowly,  "  that  he's  of  good 
character.  I  should  like  to  see  this  studio.  To 
night,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Dorothy  had  been  standing,  her  head  partly 
turned  away,  the  back  of  her  hand  to  her  lips,  in 
an  attitude  of  doubt.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  give 
up  this — this  work  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart,  no,  dear.  But  things 
have  changed  so  that  I  am  becoming  very  cau- 


212        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

tious,  overcautious,  perhaps.  But  we'll  look  at 
your  studio,  anyway,  won't  we?"  And  with  a 
smile  he  looked  deep  into  her  earnest  eyes  and 
kissed  her. 

Dorothy  was  grave,  unusually  so,  even  for  her, 
at  dinner.  She  understood  that  her  father  dis 
trusted  Bornheim.  Still,  why  should  he  distrust 
him?  The  man  was  respectful,  deferential,  and 
then  she  remembered  how  more  than  once  in  the 
past  she  had  felt  a  slight  uneasiness,  she  still  did 
not  know  why,  with  regard  to  his  attentions. 
Was  it  because  of  Alfred  Seebar,  a  sort  of  prick 
ing  of  conscience?  For  in  her  heart  she  began 
to  believe  that  neither  she  nor  her  father  had 
been  quite  just  to  him;  and  unaware  of  the  fact, 
she  repeated  her  father's  reflection:  she  would 
have  liked  to  ask  Seebar  what  he  thought  of 
Bornheim.  But  what  difference  did  it  make, 
anyway?  She  was  not  on  intimate  terms  with 
Bornheim.  He  was  little  more  than  an  acquaint 
ance.  No  matter  what  the  man's  character  might 
be,  it  could  in  no  way  affect  her. 


The  Doubtful  Gift  213 

And  so  she  professed  to  convince  herself  and 
dismiss  the  subject  from  her  mind,  but  the  ap 
proaching  visit  to  the  studio  kept  it  fresh  before 
her. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  Dorothy  and  her 
father  left  the  elevator  on  the  thirtieth  floor  and 
ascended  by  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  floor  above — 
the  top  story  of  the  building.  The  waning  day 
light  cast  a  pale  glow  through  the  roof  of  ground 
glass,  guiding  their  steps,  as  they  pattered  down 
the  otherwise  silent  hall. 

A  turn  to  the  right  and  Dorothy  was  fumbling 
at  a  door  with  her  key.  In  a  moment  she  had  it 
open,  had  touched  a  button,  and  the  place  became 
brilliant  with  light — the  light  that  was  almost  as 
cheap,  as  universal,  as  air  or  water. 

Mr.  Markham  could  not  survey  the  room  with 
other  than  a  pleased  eye.  It  was  a  neat  room, 
rather  small,  yet  well  suited  to  its  purpose.  The 
windows  were  large,  opening  out  to  the  south 
and  east.  Already,  drawing  tables  and  easels  and 
stools  had  been  provided. 


214        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  And  see,  father,"  said  Dorothy,  who  had  been 
observing  him  keenly,  noting  with  silent  pleasure 
his  manifest  approval  of  the  place,  "  isn't  this  a 
dear  little  room?  " 

She  led  the  way  through  a  door,  which,  at 
first  glance,  one  might  judge  led  into  a  closet. 
Easy-chairs,  a  bit  of  a  table,  with  some  fragile 
tea  things  upon  it,  a  picture  or  two,  a  fireplace, 
and  a  huge  Davenport  all  lent  an  atmosphere  of 
comfort.  It  was  beautiful,  cosey,  and  remote. 
Its  only  entrance  was  through  the  studio. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  don't  like  about  the 
room,"  said  Dorothy,  opening  one  of  the  win 
dows,  "  and  that  is,  this  scaffold  out  here. 
They're  adding  something  to  the  building  be 
yond.  See  how  incomplete  it  looks  with  that 
great  hole  in  the  wall,  and  the  girders  all  showing 
like  the  bones  of  some  huge  skeleton,  and  the 
concrete  so  white  and  ragged.  But  they're  not 
working  on  it  just  now,  so  I'll  not  be  disturbed." 

As  they  stood,  leaning  out  of  the  window,  their 
heads  close  together,  the  girl's  arm  around  her 


The  Doubtful  Gift  215 

father's  shoulder,  there  came  a  great  burst,  a 
huge  flash,  of  light — noiseless,  but  with  all  the 
abruptness  of  an  explosion.  It  was  only  the 
lights  of  the  city  being  turned  on,  yet  the  two 
started,  bumping  their  heads  together  in  conse 
quence,  and  then  laughing  at  their  own  surprise. 

After  that  brief  little  laugh  they  were  silent 
again. 

"  Look,"  said  Dorothy  presently,  "  there  conies 
the  moon." 

A  wan  bit  of  light  it  seemed  just  above  the 
illumination  of  the  city.  A  black  cloud  loomed, 
its  huge  shoulder  up  against  the  pale  disk.  The 
moon  seemed  to  scurry  along  the  edge,  then  sank 
behind  the  cloud,  revealing  the  latter's  irregular 
jagged  shape  in  golden  outline.  And  then  the 
cloud  raised  its  shoulder  still  higher  and  the  light 
in  the  sky  vanished. 

"  It's  gone,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  Yes,  gone,"  repeated  her  father  softly, 
"  gone." 

They  sat  down  upon  the  Davenport.     It  was 


216        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

cool  and  quiet  and  restful,  up  there  in  the  little 
studio.  They  felt  for  the  first  time  since  their 
removal  from  the  old  home  on  Sheridan  Drive 
that  they  possessed  real  privacy.  It  was  weari 
some,  night  after  night,  to  come  to  the  table 
and  listen  to  the  same  useless  idle  chatter.  What 
a  contrast  with  the  quiet,  well-ordered  dining 
room  they  had  known — with  the  noiseless,  in 
telligent  service  of  the  butler,  with  nothing  what 
ever  to  interfere  with  their  free  exchange  of 
thought. 

How  monotonous  Dorothy's  life  must  now  be, 
thought  Mr.  Markham.  He  was  thankful  she  had 
her  art  work  to  interest  her,  to  take  her  mind 
from  the  otherwise  absolute  vacuity  of  existence 
that  otherwise  would  have  confronted  her. 

Then  once  more  they  began  to  talk. 

Dorothy  spoke  of  the  art  contest  which  was  to 
be  concluded  in  four  months.  "  If  I  am  success 
ful  I  shall  receive  a  really  munificent  income  from 
the  state,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  work,  oh,  work  so 
hard,  and  perhaps,  then,  you  can  retire." 


The  Doubtful  Gift  217 

"  Nonsense,  child,  why  should  I  retire  ?  It  is 
better  that  I  have  something  to  do." 

"  Really  now,  father,  what  sort  of  work  are 
you  doing?  You  have  never  answered  my  ques 
tions  whenever  I  have  asked  you  about  it.  You 
look  so  very,  very  tired  at  nights,  and  your  hands 
are  getting  hard.  Father,  I  wouldn't  have  men 
tioned  this,  but  everything  seems  so  different 
here  to-night.  I  feel  more  myself.  I  feel  that 
we  are  away  from  all  those  dreadful  people.  I 
feel  that  we  are  as  we  used  to  be,  confiding  in 
each  other.  So  don't  be  angry,  father." 

Mr.  Markham  kissed  her  softly  on  the  cheek. 
"  I'm  not  angry,  dear,"  he  answered  huskily. 
"  If  I  seem  troubled  it's  for  your  sake,  Dolly.  I 
do  wish  I  knew  more  of  this  man,  Bornheim, 
though,  I  do  indeed.  I  trust  you  absolutely. 
Don't  misunderstand  me  for  a  single  instant. 
But  then  you're  only  a  child,  only  a  child."  He 
sighed. 

At  that  moment  he  felt  most  keenly  how  un 
protected  his  daughter  was.  In  case  of  accident 


218        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

to  himself  what  would  become  of  her?  He  placed 
no  confidence  in  Bornheim's  professed  friendship. 

Thought  of  Bornheim  brought  to  his  mind 
another  man.  He  no  longer  wondered  if  he  had 
not  made  a  mistake  with  regard  to  him;  he  knew. 
Socialist  or  Individualist,  he  felt  Seebar  to  be  a 
man  of  honor — a  man  to  be  trusted  implicitly. 

And  Dorothy's  thoughts,  too,  were  running  on 
the  same  theme.  She  would  have  broached  the 
matter  to  her  father,  only  somehow  she  could 
not  quite  screw  up  her  courage. 


CHAPTER  XV 
MRS.  TWESDEM  OFFERS  INFORMATION 

TA  AILY,  Dorothy  shut  herself  up  in  her  studio 
for  hours  at  a  time,  working  hard,  and 
hoping  as  zealously.  Sometimes  in  the  evening 
she  talked  with  Mrs.  Twesdem,  with  whom  she 
could  converse  more  freely  than  with  her  father, 
about  her  progress  in  the  task  she  had  under 
taken;  for  so  much  hung  upon  these  hopes,  these 
endeavors,  that  Dorothy  did  not  wish  to  rouse  in 
Mr.  Markham's  mind  an  enthusiasm  akin  to  her 
own.  New  disappointment  she  could  bear  far 
better  than  he. 

Success  meant  an  opportunity  to  release  the 
ex-millionaire  from  the  irksome  grind  of  daily 
employment.  From  her  father,  Dorothy  had 
never  been  able  to  learn  just  what  his  duties  at 
the  steel  mills  were.  It  had  come  to  her  as  a 

shock  when,  through  real  kindness  of  heart,  Mrs. 
219 


22O        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Twesdem  had  at  length  yielded  to  the  daughter's 
pleadings  and  told  her  a  portion  of  the  facts. 

The  truth  had  one  immediate  effect:  it  crys 
tallized,  most  definitely,  Dorothy's  purpose. 
Hitherto,  she  had  striven  largely,  if  not  chiefly, 
for  herself.  The  dreariness  of  the  new  life  had 
driven  her  with  an  intensity,  almost  feverish,  to 
the  one  thing  she  knew  she  could  do — whether 
that  doing  were  well  or  ill.  But  now  she  felt 
that  perhaps  she  could  help  her  father.  From 
that  moment  a  new  spirit  entered  into  her  work. 

In  spite  of  the  most  apparent  atmosphere  of 
pseudo-culture  that  enveloped  Mrs.  Twesdem, 
Dorothy  had  grown  to  like  her.  Aside  from  an 
occasional  display  of  tactlessness,  that  produced 
situations  a  bit  embarrassing,  the  woman  proved 
herself  to  be  whole-hearted  and  sometimes  even 
delicately  sympathetic.  Moreover,  Dorothy 
found  in  her  a  shrewd  interpreter  of  many  of  the 
phases  of  the  Great  Change,  as  people  still  con 
tinued  to  call  the  new  system  inaugurated  by  the 
Socialist  regime. 


Mrs.  Twesdem  Offers  Information     221 

But  it  was  Mrs.  Twesdem,  who  completely  un- 
foreseeing  the  mischief  that  the  innocent  remark 
would  cause,  suddenly  took  almost  all  the  heart 
out  of  Dorothy  with  regard  to  her  artistic  am 
bition. 

"  I've  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Twesdem  casually, 
"  that  our  friend,  Mr.  Jeppels,  is  to  be  a  member 
on  the  committee  which  is  to  judge  the  paintings." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Twesdem,  you  don't  mean  it ! " 
Dorothy's  tone  was  as  if  she  were  protesting 
against  a  sacrilege.  "  Why,  surely  he  would 
have  said  something  about  it  himself,  if  he  were." 

"  No  doubt,  but  he  was  appointed  only  to-day, 
to  take  the  place  of  some  one  who  has  resigned." 

"  Jeppels — an  art  critic !  Oh,  it  can't  be,  I 
know  it  can't!  It  makes  it  all  seem  so  common 
and  tawdry." 

"  Well,  well,  Dorothy,  it's  nothing  to  worry 
over.  Really,  he  likes  you  very  much,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  vote  for  your  work " 

"  Mrs.  Twesdem,  please  don't !  That  makes  it 
all  the  worse.  To  have  a  lot  of  ignorant  men 


222         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

passing  upon  something  that  ihey  cannot  under 
stand — something  that  is  the  creation  of  one's 
very  best  in  thought  and  feeling,  is  bad  enough, 
but  to  think  of  winning  through  favoritism.  Oh, 
I  hope,  I  know,  Mr.  Jeppels  will  use  his  judgment, 
wrong  though  it  may  be,  rather  than  do  such  a 
thing.  He's  a  rough,  coarse  man,  but  Mrs.  Twes- 
dem,  you  know  he  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing  as 
that,  don't  you?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Twesdem 
hesitatingly,  looking  somewhat  puzzled;  "  but  the 
decision,  of  course,  doesn't  rest  with  Jeppels 
alone.  There  are  other  members  on  the  com 
mittee,  you  know." 

"  I  never  really  thought  before  about  the  mem 
bership  of  this  committee.  The  names  haven't 
been  published,  have  they?  I  naturally  thought 
everything  would  be  as  it  was  in  the  old  days. 
I  just  thought  that  this  one  thing — art — was  left 
to  me.  I  should  have  known  that  they  wouldn't 
leave  me  that,  either.  Oh,  Mrs.  Twesdem,  I 
looked  forward  to  this  award  with  such  interest 


Mrs.  Twesdem  Offers  Information     223 

and  such  hope — and  now "  There  was  a 

hopelessness  in  her  tone. 

"  Dorothy,  everything  is  all  right — really  it  is." 
Mrs.  Twesdem  was  genuinely  distressed.  "  You'll 
not  feel  this  way,  I'm  sure,  when  you  win  one 
of  the  prizes — • — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  win  any  prizes;  they're 
not  worth  while — now.  The  Socialists  don't  care 
for  art — at  least  those  in  power  don't' — or  they 
wouldn't  have  such  men  as  Jeppels  pass  upon  it. 
And  I  have  been  working  so  hard  upon  that  paint 
ing,  and  I  did  try  to  do  my  best.  Oh,  it  seems 
almost  like  exposing  one's  soul — it's  desecration 
— to  put  a  painting  on  exhibition  now." 

Mrs.  Twesdem  was  beginning  to  recover  her 
self.  "  There  must  have  been  a  mistake  some 
where  when  Jeppels  was  appointed,"  she  sug 
gested.  "  Some  of  the  officials  are  very  able  men. 
I  know  nothing  so  absurd  as  this  would  be  done 
intentionally.  Surely  it  is  carelessness  on  the 
part  of  some  one.  But  don't  feel  so  badly  over 
the  art  side  of  it.  Don't  you  remember  you  told 


224        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

me  you  wanted  so  much  to  help  your  father? 
You  know  how  much  your  position  as  state  artist 
would  do  toward  that.  Then  once  the  position 
is  yours  you  can  paint  what  you  please.  Surely, 
some  persons  will  still  be  able  to  appreciate  good 
work.  There  are  lots  of  persons  who  couldn't 
appreciate  art  last  year;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
those  who  could  tell  a  good  from  a  bad  painting 
last  year  can  do  the  same  still.  Please  don't  be 
downcast;  it  makes  me  feel  horribly  blue,  too." 

Dorothy  was  recovering  her  spirits.  "  Thank 
you,  Mrs.  Twesdem,  for  mentioning  father.  I 
mustn't  forget  him.  I'm  growing  very  selfish, 
I'm  afraid.  My  appointment  would  mean  so 
much  to  father.  I  mustn't  forget  that." 

"  Things  are  different  with  all  of  us  now,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Twesdem  gently.  "  Some  feel  it 
more  than  others.  It's  hardest  on  those,  I  know, 
who  have  been  wealthy.  But,  in  some  other 
cases,  the  change  has  proved  itself  almost  as  hard, 
too.  There's  the  instance  of  my  friend  Katherine 
Grady.  She's  twenty- four  and  has  supported 


Mrs.  Twesdem  Offers  Information     225 

herself  for  the  last  eight  years — ever  since  her 
parents  died.  She's  a  kind,  good-natured  Irish 
girl.  She  used  to  be  very  popular  with  the  other 
girls  where  she  worked.  But  she  hasn't  got  many 
friends  now.  She  worked  in  one  of  the  labeling 
departments  at  the  Stock-yards,  was  forewoman 
in  fact.  When  this  Socialism  came,  the  girls 
were  almost  unanimous  that  Katherine  should  be 
elected  over  them.  Now  there's  scarce  one  in 
that  whole  department  that  has  a  good  word  for 
her;  who  doesn't  hate  her.  Poor  child,  she's 
done  her  best,  too,  to  please  the  girls.  I  guess 
that's  where  a  good  deal  of  the  trouble  rose. 
Then  there  were  others,  two  or  three,  who 
wanted  the  place.  They  were  awfully  jealous  of 
Katy.  They  did  all  they  could  to  destroy  her 
popularity. 

"  By  and  by  she  began  to  notice  that  the  girls 
didn't  seem  as  friendly  as  they  had  in  the  past. 
They  began  to  hint  to  her  indirectly  their  change 
of  opinion  of  her.  Whenever  she  approached  a 
group  who  were  talking  among  themselves  they 


226         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

would  stop,  or  else  say  ambiguous,  but  cutting 
things. 

"  Then  one  day  there  was  a  regular  quarrel, 
and  one  of  the  girls  slapped  Katherine  in  the  face. 
She  wept  over  that  and  the  other  girls  just 
laughed — some  of  those  who  had  been  her  dearest 
friends,  too.  She  resigned  shortly  after  that  and 
one  of  the  women  who  sought  the  position  got  it 
— but  Katy  never  has  regained  the  friends  she 
lost." 

"  Poor  little  Katy !  "  sighed  Dorothy.  "  Do 
they  act  that  way  toward  all  the  forewomen?  " 

"  Yes,  unless  the  forewoman  knows  how  to 
make  the  girls  in  the  shop  split  up  into  factions. 
But  don't  think  it's  always  the  forewoman  that's 
in  trouble.  Sometimes  it's  the  poor  girl  who's 
just  a  plain  worker,  it's  made  so  hard  for. 
There's  Jessie  Harding,  who's  a  skilled  lacemaker. 
She's  very  pretty,  too.  Prettier  than  a  working- 
girl  ought  to  be.  That's  one  of  the  worst  things 
about  this  Socialism.  A  girl  is  no  more  protected 
than  under  the  old  system — indeed,  often  less. 


Mrs.  Twesdem  Offers  Information     227 

One  of  the  chief  men  in  the  Chicago  Employment 
Bureau,  Oscar  Thompson,  happened  to  see  her 
and  fell  in  love  with  her — but  not  in  the  right 
way,  not  in  the  way  we  understand  love,  though 
you've  heard,  I  know,  how  loose  the  marriage 
relation  is  held  to  be  by  many  nowadays.  In 
fact,  you  know  how  many  would  abolish  marriage 
entirely.  Well,  this  Oscar  Thompson  won  her 
confidence.  He  is  a  big  man,  handsome,  and 
gentle  with  women.  Then,  when  at  last  she 
understood  his  purpose,  she  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  him.  But  he  tried  to  use  in 
direct  means.  In  some  way  he  won  over  the 
forewoman  in  the  shop  where  Jessie  was  em 
ployed,  and  when  this  forewoman  broached  the 
matter  to  her  and  the  girl  wouldn't  yield,  fault 
was  found  with  her  work.  This  forewoman 
managed  the  thing  so  cleverly  that  the  antagonism 
of  the  other  lacemakers  was  not  aroused.  Jessie 
Harding  was  practically  driven  to  seek  other  em 
ployment.  She  tried  to  get  transferred,  but  all 
they  would  offer  her  was  the  roughest  and 


228        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

hardest  kind  of  work.  She's  in  the  kitchen  now 
at  the  Pelion.  Of  course  they've  got  to  give  her 
work  and  pay  her  standard  wages,  but  still  they 
find  all  sorts  of  methods  of  persecuting  her. 
Thompson  holds  out  the  most  tempting  promises 
to  her,  too." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Dorothy,  her  eyes  burning  with 
indignation,  "  the  monster !  " 

After  a  pause  she  added :  "  But,  Mrs.  Twesdem, 
there  still  are  left  some  good  people.  There's 
Mr.  Grant,  our  old  minister.  It  seems  so  strange 
to  see  him  in  the  entry  department  over  in  the 
Central  Distribution  Building.  He's  still  the  same 
kind,  patient  man  he  always  was.  And  his 
sermons  every  Sunday  are  just  as  wholesome  and 
as  earnest  as  they  used  to  be.  Indeed,  he  seems 
to  be  more  earnest,  for  he  is  absolutely  free  to 
speak  from  his  own  heart.  Of  course  he  gets 
nothing  for  it.  That  was  a  wicked  law  which 
prohibits  any  lecturer  or  minister  from  receiving 
money  by  gift  or  subscription.  Think  of  it,  all 
the  churches,  all  the  private  schools,  all  the  great 


Mrs.  Twesdem  Offers  Information     229 

endowed  universities  confiscated  by  the  state, 
along  with  our  homes.  Sometimes  I  can  scarcely 
believe  that  I  am  not  dreaming.  Every  morning 
when  I  wake  up  I  go  over  many  of  the  events  of 
the  several  months  past  to  make  sure  that  it  is 
not  a  dream,  always  hoping  that  I  will  find  some 
inconsistency  in  the  events.  But  everything  fits 
in  too  well,  and  I  know  then  that  it's  all  only  too 
real. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel  thankful  that  father 
and  I  are  so  much  better  off  than  we  might  be, 
but  I  can't  help  thinking,  too,  of  the  things  I 
used  to  take  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  which, 
I  fear,  have  gone  out  of  my  life  forever." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  TERRIBLE  THING  HAPPENS 
election  of  foreman  in  the  machine  shop 


of  the  Western  Steel  Mills  took  place  early 
in  September.  No  specified  date  was  set  by  the 
Constitution  for  these  industrial  elections,  as  they 
were  called.  The  only  requirement  was  that 
they  be  held  in  September  not  later  than  the 
fifteenth  of  the  month.  While  in  all  the  depart 
ments  of  the  steel  mills  considerable  friction 
existed,  nowhere  was  there  anything  equal  to 
the  bitterness  of  the  quarrel  that  had  put  Arm 
strong  and  Bethering  at  sword's  points.  The 
rivals,  whenever  they  chanced  to  meet,  were 
insolently  hostile.  No  two  men,  the  workers  de 
clared,  had  ever  harbored  such  bitter,  open 
hatred  without  its  leading,  sooner  or  later,  to  a 
test  of  physical  strength. 

On  this  morning,  the  men  in  Bethering's  de- 
230 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       231 

partment  came  to  the  plant  earlier  than  usual. 
Notwithstanding  the  unmistakable  threats  of 
Bethering,  and  the  more  subtle  insinuations  of 
his  rival,  there  were  still  several  men  who  had 
not  avowed  themselves.  This  unknown  vote  held 
the  balance  of  power. 

It  seemed  curious  that  the  overbearing  Beth 
ering  should  have  commanded  the  following  he 
did,  but  he  had  the  bluff,  hearty  manner  that 
attracts  many  men.  Moreover,  there  were  some, 
who,  in  the  event  of  his  success,  did  not  care  to 
suJer  his  mean,  petty  vengeance. 

There  was  a  striking  difference  in  the  methods 
employed  by  the  two  candidates  in  soliciting 
votes.  "  Now,  my  man,"  Bethering  would  say, 
dropping  his  broad  red  hands  to  his  hips  and 
surveying  his  prospect  with  just  the  trace  of  a 
sneer  on  his  face,  "  you're  going  to  climb  into  the 
band  wagon  before  it's  too  late,  ain't  you?  It's 
going  to  be  rough  riding  for  those  who  ain't  in 
my  band  wagon." 

Armstrong  would  throw  his  arm  in  a  friendly 


232         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

clasp  over  the  shoulder  of  the  man  he  solicited. 
"  Brother,"  he  would  say,  "  it's  a  choice  between 
a  low-down  browbeater  and  myself.  I'll  frankly 
admit  I  think  I  am  the  better  man.  If  you  don't 
think  so,  well,  then  some  one's  a  poor  judge. 
We'll  all  be  happier,  though,  if  you  elect  me." 

This  morning  the  men  were  standing  or  sitting 
in  groups  around  the  shop.  The  oil  was  oozing 
from  the  machines  as  usual,  overhead  the  belts 
snapped  by,  but  no  man  was  at  work.  Some  one 
apparently  had  thoughtlessly  turned  on  the 
power,  and  no  one  seemed  to  consider  a  saving  to 
the  government,  by  shutting  it  down,  worth  while. 
The  election  had  got  into  the  blood,  as  elections 
have  got  into  the  blood  of  men  since  that  day 
ages  ago,  when  the  two  factions  of  some  tribe, 
wearying  of  cutting  one  another's  throats,  de 
cided  to  test  by  ballot  which  side  was  numerically 
the  greater,  and  hence,  the  stronger. 

There  were  about  a  hundred  men  who  worked 
in  the  machine  shop.  This  matter  of  the  election 
had  suddenly  grown  more  important  in  their  eyes 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       233 

than  it  had  been  deemed  a  week  ago.  As  the 
evenness  of  the  contest  became  more  apparent, 
every  vote  took  on  a  new  value. 

Three  men  were  selected  to  count  the  ballots. 
Bethering  chose  one,  Armstrong  another,  and 
these  two  fixed  upon  a  third. 

It  was  a  crude,  antiquated  system  they  em 
ployed  in  their  voting.  A  plain  white  card  was 
passed  around  to  each  man  and  upon  this  he  wrote 
his  choice.  Then  he  walked  up  to  the  ballot- 
box,  also  hastily  improvised  for  the  purpose,  and 
dropped  the  bit  of  cardboard  through  the  opening. 

Bethering  and  Armstrong,  with  keen,  alert  eyes 
watched  jealously  over  the  proceedings.  Once  it 
seemed  as  if  Bethering  would  interfere  with  a 
voter,  even  by  force.  He  seized  a  depressed,  sad- 
eyed-appearing  man  by  the  shoulder.  "  Now 
look  here,  Jack,"  he  said ;  "  you  know  a  damn 
sight  better  than  to  vote  the  way  you're  going  to. 
Tear  that  up  and  do  it  right." 

His  words  were  as  rough  as  his  grip,  and  the 
man  paused  doubtfully. 


234        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  No  interference  here,"  said  Armstrong 
harshly;  "every  man  votes  as  he  pleases." 

For  a  moment  the  two  candidates  glared  at 
each  other.  Then  Bethering's  hand  dropped,  and 
the  balloting  went  on. 

It  was  over  in  a  few  minutes,  and  they  were 
counting  the  votes,  one  of  the  three  judges  of  elec 
tion  reading  each  name  aloud,  as  the  card  passed 
through  his  hands,  and  marking  down  the  result. 

"  Armstrong  —  Bethering  —  Armstrong  • — 
Armstrong — Bethering,"  ran  on  the  voice,  in  a 
jerky,  sing-song  tone. 

There  came  a  brief  pause  to  add  up  the  totals. 
Then  another  moment  of  silence  followed,  to 
verify  the  result. 

Presently  one  of  the  three  judges  stood  up, 
looking  from  the  slip  of  paper  he  held  in  his 
hand  to  the  men  in  front  of  him,  and  then  back 
again  to  the  slip  of  paper. 

"  There's  no  use  in  going  through  any  prelimi 
naries,  I  guess,"  he  said.  "  You're  all  anxious 
to  know  what  the  result  is.  There's  ninety-nine 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       235 

votes  in  all  cast — divided  as  follows :  Armstrong, 
fifty;  Bethering,  forty-nine." 

"  There's  been  cheating  here — dirty,  low-down 
cheating!"  Bethering  had  leaped  forward,  his 
fists  waving,  his  teeth  set  in  an  ugly  clinch. 
"  There's  only  ninety-seven  of  us.  There's  two 
votes  too  many." 

"Well,  if  there  are,  who  cast  them?"  Arm 
strong  put  the  question  with  provoking  coolness. 

The  voters  had  gathered  in  a  close  mass,  half- 
circling  about  the  three  judges  of  election,  stand 
ing  beside  the  table  and  the  two  candidates  facing 
each  other.  There  was  an  expectant  look  on  their 
faces  as  they  waited  for  developments,  apparently 
pleased  at  the  exciting  turn  affairs  were  taking. 

"  Who  cast  them?  "  snarled  Bethering;  "  why, 
who  would  cast  them  ?  I  bet  the  losers  didn't." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Armstrong, 
still  irritatingly  cool,  "  that  doesn't  necessarily 
follow.  It  looks  to  me  rather  as  if  the  losers 
underestimated  their  strength  by  a  couple  of 
votes,  and  were  careless  in  not  making  up  the 


236         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

deficiency  to  the  right  amount.  Why  didn't  you 
add  four  ballots  instead  of  two?  It  would  have 
been  just  as  easy,  I  should  think." 

It  was  the  sneer  on  Armstrong's  face  and  the 
smile  of  many  of  the  onlookers  that  now  almost 
completely  destroyed  Bethering's  always  uncer 
tain  self-control.  Things  began  to  spin  before 
his  eyes.  The  primitive  instinctive  desire  to 
crush  that  sneering  face,  to  stop  that  insolent 
voice,  came  to  him. 

Still  the  words  sounded :  "  I  think  we'd  better 
have  another  vote.  What  do  you  say,  boys?" 

"  Damn  you,  you've  cheated,  any  one  can  see 
that,"  almost  screamed  Bethering.  "  Why  in  hell 
should  we  take  another  vote — so  you  can  stuff 
the  ballot-box  once  more — so  you  can  intimidate 
some  of  the  men,  hey?  " 

His  fist  shook  within  a  few  inches  of  Arm 
strong's  eyes.  He  was  nearly  insane  now  with 
passion.  The  hot  blood  flooded  his  head.  He 
seemed  scarcely  to  see  or  to  be  able  to  breathe. 
Still  he  did  not  strike. 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       237 

Armstrong  disdained  to  answer  his  words. 
"  What  will  you  have,  boys,"  he  repeated, 
"another  ballot?" 

And  then  Bethering  lost  all  sense  of  reason. 
The  uproar  about  him  stimulated  him  to  a  greater 
frenzy,  as  it  might  a  madman.  Without  a  word 
of  warning  suddenly  his  fist  shot  out,  aimed 
straight  between  those  insolent,  mocking  eyes. 
Still,  Armstrong  had  time  to  dodge  and  fend  off 
the  blow  with  his  right  arm,  almost  with  the  same 
movement  hitting  back  at  Bethering,  and  landing 
on  his  jaw  with  a  force  that  stopped  him.  It  had 
been  a  short  jab,  but  not  quite  quick  enough  to 
injure  seriously  the  foreman. 

And  then  the  two  men  went  at  it  more  warily. 

To  Mr.  Markham  a  fight  of  this  sort  was  an 
extraordinary  spectacle.  In  the  early  days  of  his 
life  in  the  shops  he  had  known  men  to  spring  at 
each  other  in  just  such  fashion  as  Armstrong  and 
Bethering  now  fought,  but  cooler  and  wiser 
heads,  backed  by  powerful  arms,  had  always  in 
terfered,  and  brought  hostilities  to  an  abrupt  and 


238         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

tame  termination.  Moreover,  he  had  forgotten 
the  rougher  life  of  his  younger  years.  His  tastes 
had  been  softened  and  refined  by  the  larger 
atmosphere  his  wealth  and  position  had  placed 
him  in.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  shrinking,  a  half- 
fearful  thrill,  that  he  watched  the  combat.  But 
the  spectacle,  if  repugnant,  still  seemed  strangely 
to  fascinate  him,  and  he  found  himself  pushing 
forward  to  get  a  better  view. 

Both  were  active  men,  muscular  and  powerful, 
but  Armstrong  had  the  finer  physique.  He  was 
erect,  sinewy,  long  of  reach.  Bethering  stooped 
awkwardly,  in  a  half-crouching  posture,  but  with 
a  compactness  of  build  and  a  force  of  blow  that 
Armstrong  could  not  equal. 

What  the  fight  was  for  no  one  paused  to  con 
sider.  It  could  have  no  bearing  on  the  election; 
but  the  principals  and  their  following  evidently 
seemed  to  think  that,  somehow,  their  interests 
were  staked  on  the  outcome  of  this  battle. 

For  a  little  while  the  combatants  manoeuvered 
about,  neither  apparently  having  an  advantage 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       239 

over  the  other,  Armstrong's  remarkable  reach 
offsetting  Bethering's  greater  strength.  Then 
the  men  clinched,  and  Bethering,  while  holding, 
struck  his  antagonist  two  short  blows  in  the 
stomach,  and,  groaning,  Armstrong  fell  to  the 
floor.  He  lay,  gasping  for  breath,  his  eyes  closed, 
while  Bethering,  his  face  gleaming  with  sweat, 
stood  over  him,  ready  to  strike  again. 

There  came  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  the 
wild  shout  of  delight  that  burst  from  the  throats 
of  Bethering's  supporters  was  met  with  an  angry 
roar  from  the  defeated  fighter's  following.  More 
fiercely  excited  than  before,  even,  the  men  pressed 
in  closer. 

A  tall,  gaunt  man,  overtopping  his  fellows  by 
half  a  head,  struck  out  at  Bethering  with  a  short 
heavy  iron  bar.  It  slipped  from  his  fingers,  fall 
ing  to  the  concrete  floor.  A  shrill  yell  rising 
above  the  din  of  other  voices  told  that  it  had 
crushed  a  foot. 

Some  one  from  behind  in  the  swirling  throng 
drove  a  fist  into  the  foreman's  back.  Furious,  he 


240        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

wheeled  about,  his  face  savage  and  drawn,  like  a 
beast's. 

Straight  against  the  table  he  flung  himself,  in 
his  effort  to  get  at  his  assailant,  sending  it  smash 
ing  on  its  side.  Blows  were  aimed  at  his  head 
and  face,  sinewy  hands  gripped  at  his  body,  but 
he  buffeted  his  way  through  with  the  strength 
of  one  gone  mad.  Terrified  by  the  insane  fire 
he  saw  in  Bethering's  eyes,  the  man  who  had 
struck  the  blow  was  fleeing  toward  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  furnace  rooms,  where  the  steel  itself 
was  manufactured. 

With  the  fall  of  Armstrong,  Mr.  Markham 
had  detached  himself  from  the  ring  of  spectators, 
and  as  the  imminence  of  a  general  fracas  became 
evident,  had  retreated  in  the  direction  of  this 
furnace  room.  When  the  rush,  following  the 
overturning  of  the  table,  was  made  in  his  direc 
tion,  he  passed  through  the  door,  and  stepped  to 
one  side,  the  fugitive,  with  Bethering  at  his  heels, 
and  the  whole  mob  close  behind,  dashing  after  an 
instant  later. 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       241 

In  the  furnace  room  work  was  going  forward 
as  usual.  Flame  and  sparks  leaped  upward  from 
the  huge  converters,  filled  with  their  molten  steel. 
The  place  was  partly  clouded  with  smoke,  and 
the  pungent  vapors  from  the  metal  caught  the 
nostrils  sharply.  Overhead  the  traveling  crane, 
operated  by  a  workman,  who,  suspended,  rode 
with  it,  was  sweeping  along,  a  ladle  of  the  liquid 
metal  hanging  from  the  hook  and  chain  of  the 
crane.  This  much  Mr.  Markham  almost  un 
consciously  noted  above  the  hiss  and  clamor  that 
filled  the  air,  the  heavy  rattle  and  groan  of  car 
wheels,  as  a  string  of  mono-rail  freights  was 
slowly  switched  and  brought  to  a  standstill  with 
in  the  works. 

At  the  sudden  eruption  from  the  machine- 
shop,  the  steelworkers,  amazed,  paused  at  their 
tasks.  For  the  moment  the  operator  of  the 
traveling  crane  forgot  his  duty,  to  watch  the 
scene  below.  He  saw  two  men  running  around 
to  the  right,  farthest  from  himself,  to  clear  the 
freight  cars,  a  shouting  angry  horde  of  others  at 


242         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

their  heels.  But  the  old  man,  closer  to  him, 
standing  against  the  end  of  the  nearest  car,  he 
did  not  notice.  He  saw  the  fugitive  fly  across 
the  track  and  his  pursuer  stumble  and  fall  over 
a  projecting  obstacle,  probably  a  spike.  But  to 
that  he  paid  no  more  heed. 

A  jar  had  brought  him  back  to  his  duty.  The 
ladle,  carried  forward,  unheeded,  by  the  traveling 
crane,  had  struck  against  the  end  of  the  train, 
toward  which  the  operator  and  his  charge  had 
been  slowly  carried,  and  the  white  stream  was 
tumbling  to  the  floor  like  a  miniature  mountain 
cataract.  As  the  hot,  fiery  stuff,  so  deceptively 
pale,  dashed  upon  the  ground,  a  shower  of  sparks 
flew  up.  Then  in  the  shadow  of  the  cars,  he  saw 
a  man,  catching  at  his  eyes  and  swaying  about, 
as  if  in  intense  agony.  Still  not  quite  compre 
hending,  he  stared.  The  next  instant  he  realized 
fully  what  had  happened,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  man's  face.  Those  tiny  sparks  were  drops 
of  liquid  steel,  and  he  knew  the  eyes  of  the  man 
who  so  silently  writhed  and  twisted,  were  as  sight- 


A  Terrible  Thing  Happens       243 

less  and  seared  as  if  burned  by  hot  irons.  With 
complete  awakening,  he  brought  the  machinery 
of  the  crane  to  a  stop. 

Afterward  he  learned  that  the  man's  name  was 
Faverall  Markham. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
DOUBT 

/T*HE  third  of  November,  1953,  will  ever  be 
remembered  as  one  of  the  most  terrible  days 
in  the  history  of  this  country.  Looking  back 
upon  it  now,  it  seems  incredible  that  such  things 
could  possibly  have  happened  as  actually  did  oc 
cur  on  the  night  of  that  day  and  the  early  morn 
ing  hours  of  the  fourth. 

That  there  was  a  twofold  plot  against  the 
government  was  afterward  proved.  How  wide 
its  ramifications  were  will  never  be  known,  but  it 
is  doubtful  if  either  of  the  two  separate  organiza 
tions  of  conspirators  was  at  all  aware  of  the 
plans,  or  even  the  existence,  of  the  other. 

However,  that  may  be,  events  proved  there 
was  widespread  hatred  of  the  Socialist  regime, 
and  an  alert  eagerness  on  the  part  of  the  masses 
to  seize  any  opportunity  to  strike  against  it.  One 

244 


Doubt  245 

thing  is  known  for  certain, — where  and  how  the 
trouble  actually  started. 

The  third  of  November  was  the  anniversary  of 
the  election  which  established  the  Socialist  regime. 
The  press,  the  government  press,  for,  of  course, 
there  was  none  other  now,  spoke  in  enthusiastic 
terms  of  the  wonderful  interest  that  was  being 
manifested  by  the  whole  country  over  the  ap 
proaching  national  celebration.  Speaking  edi 
torially,  the  Chicago  Republic  had  said: 

Even  the  farmers  are  more  than  satisfied  with 
present  conditions.  The  sun  has  shone,  the  rain 
has  fallen,  the  grain  has  ripened,  and  cattle  and 
hogs  have  waxed  fat,  as  they  always  have.  Every 
man  who  but  a  year  ago  was  a  farmhand,  now 
shares  the  bounty  of  the  soil  with  him  who  for 
merly  was  his  employer.  And  this  with  in  no  wise 
depriving  the  latter  of  any  of  his  accustomed  wants, 
or  even  luxuries.  The  farmer  ever  has  been  the 
backbone  of  the  Nation,  and  with  him  not  only  sat 
isfied  and  contented,  but  supporting  the  Constitu 
tion  with  an  eager  enthusiasm,  the  success  of  the 
Great  Revolution  is  assured.  The  universal  broth 
erhood  is  established  and  every  man  has  at  last 
come  into  his  own. 


246         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

About  this  time  Seebar  received  the  following 
letter  from  his  Uncle  Richard.  One  part,  in  par 
ticular,  interested  him: 

As  I  predicted,  I  have  had  an  unusually  heavy 
crop  this  year.  Conditions  have  been  excellent  for 
the  best  results.  In  spite  of  all  this,  however,  if 
I  am  to  judge  by  my  neighbors,  the  acreage  this 
year  has  been  very  light.  This  is  due  to  one  thing 
solely : — neglect  of  the  growing  crops,  and  indif 
ference  and  carelessness  in  harvesting  them.  The 
confiscation  of  the  lands  and  herds,  the  excessively 
heavy  government  tax  on  the  present  crop  to  meet 
the  extraordinary  expenses  of  putting  the  new  sys 
tem  into  operation,  and  the  division  with  the  hired 
men,  as  well  as  the  knowledge  that  next  spring  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  of  men  plan  to  migrate  to  farms 
already  occupied,  to  take  a  share  of  the  profits, 
have  removed  all  incentive.  Moreover,  every  man 
feels  that  no  hardship  will  come  to  him;  the  gov 
ernment  provides  homes,  and  even  if  he  has  a  crop 
failure  the  nation  is  back  of  him.  If  we  continue 
to  prosper  here  in  the  country,  it  will  be  despite 
ourselves. 

The  newspapers  declare  that  there  will  be  a  bum 
per  crop  this  year.  It  is  not  true.  There  will  be 
an  unusually  heavy  shortage,  for  reasons  I  have 
pointed  out. 


Doubt  247 

I  have  moved  into  the  government  hotel  that  has 
been  provided  for  two  dozen  of  us  farmers  and 
families.  I  must  admit  that  conditions  here  are, 
on  the  whole,  agreeable. 

If  there  was  discontent  in  the  country,  Seebar 
knew  there  was  more  of  it  in  the  city.  Whether 
or  not  time  would  bring  about  a  satisfactory  ad 
justment  of  vexing  problems,  he  did  not  know, 
but  he  hoped  and  believed  it  would.  Men,  he 
felt,  were  too  impatient  and  were  demanding  im 
possibilities. 

Still  he  was  beset  with  a  host  of  doubts,  and  it 
was  not  with  a  very  great  deal  of  enthusiasm  that 
he  assisted  in  the  plans  for  the  anniversary  cele 
bration  at  Chicago.  Following  a  great  parade, 
a  number  of  speeches  were  to  be  capped  by  a 
hundred  banquets  held  simultaneously  in  as  many 
different  parts  of  the  city.  And,  finally,  there 
were  to  be  more  speeches. 

It  was  up  in  his  old  office  in  the  Chamber  of 
Trade  Building,  which  had  been  converted  to 
government  administrative  uses,  that  on  this 


248         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

evening  of  November  third,  Seebar  was  alone  with 
his  friend,  Harry  Thornton,  formerly  managing 
editor  of  the  Globe,  but  now  a  reporter  on  the 
Republic. 

Seebar  was  to  speak  at  the  main  banquet  that 
night  in  the  New  Auditorium,  and  Franklin  S. 
Furst,  President  of  the  United  States,  was  to 
speak  there  also.  Five  thousand  people  were  to 
be  present. 

A  twelvemonth  back,  Thornton  had  seemed 
younger  than  his  years.  His  face  had  been 
fuller,  and  the  lines  about  his  mouth  were  scarcely 
visible  then.  Now  there  were  streaks  of  gray 
over  the  temples.  Since  the  night  of  the  election, 
when  he  and  Seebar,  together  with  Bornheim  and 
Jeppels,  had  awaited  the  returns  in  that  same 
room,  the  man  had  grown  older  in  thought. 
Always  earnest,  his  earnestness  had  become  a 
settled  seriousness. 

"  There's  an  undercurrent  in  public  opinion 
that  I  don't  at  all  understand,  Fred,"  he  said  to 
Seebar.  "  I'm  thirty-eight  now,  and  I've  lived 


Doubt  249 

the  atmosphere  of  the  city,  that  only  a  newspaper 
man  can  get,  for  sixteen  years.  I've  assisted  in 
unearthing  gangs  of  blackmailers.  I  got  on  the 
inside  in  that  big  anarchist  plot  ten  years  ago, 
when  it  was  planned  to  assassinate  the  President, 
and  the  Governor  of  every  state,  simultaneously. 
We  exposed  in  the  Globe  the  big  labor  con 
spiracy,  and  our  paper  was  the  first  to  print  the 
secret  pact  of  Mexico  and  the  South  American 
republics  to  make  war  on  the  United  States. 
Our  paper  has  forecast  correctly  nine  out  of 
ten  times  the  results  of  city,  state,  and  national 
elections,  but  there  is  something  in  the  at 
mosphere  now  that  totally  bewilders  me. 
Whether  it  is  to  be  an  uprising  of  the  Capitalists, 
or  of  the  Socialist  malcontents,  I  can't  say;  I  can't 
lay  my  finger  on  anything  definite  either,  but  my 
instinct  tells  me  there  is  something  brewing." 

Thornton  struck  a  match  and  held  his  half- 
burnt  cigar,  which  had  gone  out,  over  the  blaze, 
slowly  revolving  it  between  his  fingers.  Then  he 
replaced  it  in  his  mouth,  and,  with  a  whiff  or 


250        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

two,  to  get  it  drawing  once  more,  settled  back 
in  his  chair. 

Seebar  made  no  reply.  He  was  sitting  with 
his  eyes  on  the  floor,  drumming  the  table  with  his 
forefinger. 

"  This  celebration  to-night,"  went  on  Thorn 
ton,  "  should  mean  a  tremendous  outburst  of  en 
thusiasm  for  the  government.  It  should 
strengthen  it.  The  promises  the  speakers  will  re 
new  at  the  various  banquets  cannot  help  but  have 
their  effect.  They  are  certain  to  give  new  hope 
to  the  people — for  a  time  at  least." 

Seebar  raised  his  eyes.  "  You  speak  as  though 
the  government  has  failed  to  keep  its  promises," 
he  said ;  "  in  what  respects  has  it  failed  ?  " 

Thornton  came  straight  back  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  "  Why,  what  man  is  con 
tented  with  his  present  lot  ?  What  man  feels  that 
he  receives  the  just  share  he  is  entitled  to  for  his 
labor?  Every  workman  looks  askance  at  his 
fellows  in  other  trades,  as  much  as  to  say :  '  You 
are  robbing  me  of  the  just  rewards  of  my  time 


Doubt  251 

and  toil.'  How  do  the  government  commis 
sioners  regulate,  for  instance,  the  value  of  the 
labor  of  dressing  the  raw  leather,  of  tanning  it, 
of  making  it  into  shoes,  of  transporting  it  in  the 
form  of  shoes  to  the  salesrooms,  and  of  dis 
tributing  these  shoes?  Under  the  Individualistic 
regime  the  law  of  supply  and  demand  regulated 
all  this.  All  occupations  you  declare  to  be  equally 
productive.  Your  commissioners  therefore  de 
creed  that  the  man  who  sweated  in  the  stench  of 
the  tannery  should  receive  no  more  than  the  cut 
ter  who  shaped  the  leather  for  shoes.  Result: 
few  wanted  to  work  in  the  tannery,  and  the  hours 
there  had  to  be  shortened.  Of  these  shorter 
hours  the  cutter  is  jealous.  So  is  it  with  every 
craft  and  business — jealousy  everywhere.  The 
commissions  are  openly  accused  of  favoritism. 
Lucky  for  them  that  there  is  no  private  press  to 
open  fire. 

"  Men  cried  for  years  like  children  for  the 
moon,  for  the  ideal  of  Socialism,  for  an  unselfish, 
universal  brotherhood  of  man.  Now  that  they 


252         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

have  got  their  Socialism,  human  nature  is  still 
the  same  old  selfish  thing  unchanged. 

"  Socialism  may,  or  may  not,  have  been  coming 
in  the  course  of  evolution.  If  it  was,  then  it  was 
a  mistake  to  force  it  arbitrarily.  If  it  was  not, 
it  was  equally  a  mistake.  Either  way,  you  are 
on  the  horns  of  a  dilemma;  you  have  an  impos 
sible  system  of  government  that  cannot,  by  any 
chance,  last." 

"  All  these  matters  were  thrashed  out  in  the 
course  of  the  campaign,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
attempt  to  justify  Socialism  now.  Socialism  is 
with  us,  and  to  stay,  I  believe."  Seebar  spoke 
with  decision.  "  You  have  forebodings  that 
something  is  about  to  happen.  An  outbreak  may 
occur,  but  I  do  not  believe  it  will  be  made  by 
either  Individualists  or  Socialists.  If  at  all,  it 
will  be  by  anarchists,  and  then  I  believe  there  will 
be  nothing  more  harmful  than  a  demonstration, 
for  anarchy  only  survives  as  a  theoretic  principle. 
With  the  establishment  of  Socialism,  the  excuse 
for  it  has  passed.  Thornton,  old  man,  don't  be 


Doubt  253 

offended  by  my  attitude,  but  I  cannot  allow  any 
doubt  to  harrow  me  just  now.  If,  as  one  of  the 
leaders,  I  am  to  see  this  thing  through  I  must 
have  full  confidence  in  my  cause." 

"  Yes,"  said  Thornton,  "  I  understand." 
"  I  have  given  up  a  great  deal,"  went  on  See- 
bar;  "given  up  everything  worth  while  in  life 
for  this  Socialism — a  woman's  love.  When  I 
broke  with  her  I  didn't  realize  at  the  time  just 
what  it  meant.  My  head  was  full  of  other  things. 
Besides,  I  thought  everything  would  be  all  right 
in  a  few  weeks,  but  she  remained  obdurate.  She 
asked  me  to  choose — herself  or  Socialism,  and  I 
chose  Socialism.  You  know  the  story,  though 
I've  never  mentioned  anything  of  this  to  you  be 
fore.  Been  common  enough  talk  everywhere 
though,  I  dare  say. 

"  And  so  when  any  one  questions  the  success 
of  the  movement  for  which  I  rightly  feel  that  I 
have  sacrificed  so  much,  it  makes  me  almost 
beside  myself  with  despair.  I  have  learned  that 
the  greatest  thing  a  man  can  renounce  is  a 


254        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

woman's  love.  Renunciation  of  ambition  is 
nothing — nothing  compared  with  it." 

Seebar  rose  and  stepped  toward  the  window. 
"  And  a  few  hours  from  now,"  he  said  bitterly, 
"  I  must  wax  eloquent  on  the  subject  of  my  own 
and  man's  material  happiness." 

Thornton  was  surprised.  Never  had  he  heard 
the  reticent  Seebar  open  his  heart  thus.  He  had 
gradually  in  the  last  year  and  a  half  come  to 
learn  Seebar's  worth— come  to  consider  him  as  a 
friend,  well  worth  the  having,  but,  until  that 
afternoon,  the  latter  had  never  confided  in  him 
in  this  manner. 

The  dusk  of  early  evening  was  already  begin 
ning  to  penetrate  the  room,  and  the  outlines  of 
furniture  and  objects  were  growing  indistinct. 
How  quiet  it  was  there !  The  whir  of  the  mono 
rail,  and  the  beat  of  feet  on  the  pavement 
were  as  the  distant  murmur  of  the  wind.  How 
their  relative  positions  had  changed  in  the  last 
eighteen  months,  Thornton  reflected.  He  had  been 
the  managing  editor  of  the  Globe;  Seebar  a  strug- 


Doubt  255 

gling  young  lawyer.  But  Seebar  was  now  a  big 
man  in  politics,  and  he — well,  he  was  almost  as 
obscure  as  when  he  was  a  cub  reporter.  Yet,  who 
was  the  happier  now  ? 

"  Thornton,"  said  Seebar,  turning  from  the 
window,  "  I  have  over-exaggerated  the  im 
portance  of  materialistic  comfort, — or  perhaps  I 
am  not  in  a  normal  state  of  mind  to  reason.  I 
used  to  think,- — it  was  my  philosophy  of  life, — 
that  where  the  material  wants  were  supplied  and 
the  body  healthy,  man  should  be  happy  and 
normal.  I  used  to  express  it  thus :  '  Morality  is 
only  a  question  of  economic  and  physiological 
well-being.'  But  I  find  that  with  spirituality 
gone  out  of  life — life  is  worth  nothing.  With 
spirituality,  man  may  be  sick  or  poor,  or  both, 
and  still  be  happy — supremely  so. 

"  Thornton,  I  don't  regret  that  I  sacrificed  love 
to  conscience  and  duty;  what  I  feel  is,  that  per 
haps  I  have  made  a  mistake,  made  a  wanton  sac 
rifice  for  a  principle  that  may  not,  as  time  may 
prove,  be  worth  the  snap  of  a  finger." 


256        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

He  began  to  walk  about  the  room  in  the  deep 
ening  dusk,  talking  as  he  did  so. 

"  I  have  tried  to  speak  with  her  more  than 
once,  but  she  will  not  hear  me.  I  wish  I  could 
help  her,  help  her  and  her  father.  Oh,  it  was 
awful  the  way  he  was  blinded !  That  seems  to 
have  strengthened  her  against  me  more  than 
ever.  I  believe,  though,  that  she  is  so  deter 
minedly  unforgiving  because  I  was  present  the 
day  of  the  eviction  from  their  home  on  Sheridan 
Drive." 

He  stopped  again  at  the  window.  "  Oh,  well, 
what's  the  use,"  he  said,  sighing  deeply.  "  There 
are  other  things  to  think  of, — at  least  I  suppose 
there  are." 

And  then  the  city  lights,  brilliant,  refulgent, 
flashed  up. 

Seebar  wheeled  about  and  faced  Thornton. 
"  Come,"  he  said,  "  let's  go." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
IN  THE  LION'S  HOUSE 

T  N    the   street   a    nipping,    fog-bearing   wind, 
sweeping  in  from  the  lake,  was  driving  the 
throngs  into  a  quickened  pace. 

"  It  gets  to  the  skin,"  remarked  Thornton, 
drawing  the  collar  of  his  coat  more  closely  about 

his  throat. 

They  were  walking  east,  facing  the  gale. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  nasty  night,"  agreed  Seebar. 
"  Let's  go  into  the  Lion's  House,  and  warm  up 
a  bit  before  the  banquet.  Besides,  we're  too  early, 
anyway." 

Presently  they  had  come  to  Michigan  Avenue. 
They  got  the  full  force  of  the  breeze  here,  for 
only  the  strip  of  park  here  separated  them  from 
the  lake.  The  street  pavement  was  all  ashine 
with  the  glint  of  lights. 

From  the  east,  over  the  naked  trees  of  the 
257 


258         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

strip  of  park,  burying  them  from  sight,  the  heavy 
wet  fog  was  drifting  in.  The  gleam  of  lights 
was  turning  to  a  ghastly  reddish  glow.  The 
mist  was  crawling  now  over  the  shining  pave 
ment. 

Yet  in  spite  of  wind  and  fog,  the  boulevard 
was  swarming  with  human  life.  It  was  a  grand 
holiday.  The  doors  of  the  cafes,  the  restaurants, 
the  saloons  were  open  to  the  throng  of  pleasure 
seekers,  for  the  government  maintained  all  these 
institutions,  as  hitherto  under  private  owner 
ship. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Seebar  suddenly,  elbow 
ing  his  way  to  the  right  with  Thornton  close  at 
his  side,  and  presently  the  two  had  passed 
through  the  softly  swinging  doors  of  the  Lion's 
House. 

The  corridor  was  magnificently  decorated,  and 
no  wonder.  This  had  formerly  been  the  Im 
perial  Hotel,  generally  acclaimed  by  travelers  as 
the  finest  in  all  America. 

The  interior  was  of  marble,  inlaid  with  gold 


In  the  Lion's  House  259 

and  green  and  ruby  red,  and  one  could  see  stained 
glass  windows  of  rare  design  and  wonderful 
coloring  and  figures. 

But  in  spite  of  the  beauty  and  magnificence  of 
the  place,  it  was  not  what  it  had  formerly  been. 
Splendid  as  all  appeared,  the  Imperial — now  the 
Lion's  House — was  little  better  than  a  great  wine 
hall. 

Seebar  and  Thornton  passed  into  one  of  the 
dining  halls,  where  an  orchestra  was  playing — 
and  where  women  and  men,  most  of  the  former 
in  gay-colored  gowns,  and  great  hats,  were 
seated,  eating  and  drinking,  chiefly  drinking, 
however. 

"  H'm !  "  said  Thornton  glancing  about  him,  as 
they  were  seated  at  a  table. 

The  scene  was  quite  common  to  him.  In  the 
old  days  he  had  often  dined  here,  and  since  his 
declension  to  the  reportorial  ranks,  in  the  course 
of  his  newsgathering  he  had  frequently  had  oc 
casion  to  visit  the  place. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Seebar. 


260        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Thornton.  He  re 
called  in  time  the  sacrifice  that  Seebar  had  made 
for  the  cause  of  Socialism.  His  friend,  he  re 
solved,  should  never  again  hear  an  unsolicited 
criticism  of  the  system  from  his  lips. 

"Come,  what  is  it?"  urged  Seebar. 

"  Well,"  replied  Thornton  with  evident  reluc 
tance,  "  did  you  observe  the  man  who  just  passed 
us?" 

"  Why,  not  beyond  noting  you  spoke  to  him." 

"  He's  been  most  unfortunate.  His  wife  is 
recovering  very  slowly  from  a  severe  attack  of 
pneumonia,  and  last  spring  his  little  boy  died  of 
some  throat  trouble." 

"  What's  his  name  ?  "  asked  Seebar  with  sud 
den  intuition. 

"  Ed — Edge — Edgeington,  yes,  Edgeington," 
Thornton  repeated  with  full  assurance  that  this 
time  he  had  the  name  correctly. 

But  Seebar  wished  complete  establishment  of 
the  man's  identity. 

"What's  his  business?"  he  inquired. 


In  the  Lion's  House  261 

"  Furniture  mover,  I  believe.  Did  you  know 
him?" 

Seebar  nodded.  He  remembered  the  manliness 
of  the  husband,  the  gentleness  of  the  wife,  and 
the  cold  dreariness  of  their  surroundings.  What 
a  contrast  was  that  little  family  circle,  warm  with 
affection  at  least,  with  the  scene  now  before 
them,  which  was  a  refutation  of  the  party 
promises — more  amusements,  more  diversions  for 
the  people,  hence,  less  immorality.  Many  of  the 
women  in  the  place  now  would  not  have  been 
admitted  under  private  management.  And  there 
was  more  of  a  care-free,  reckless  atmosphere  than 
was  manifest  even  in  the  Bohemian  and  more 
questionable  places  in  the  old  days. 

"  I  came  to  this  cause  full  of  ambition,  full  of 
hope,  of  energy,  tremendous  energy,"  said  See- 
bar.  "  Frankly,  I  can't  see  that  mankind  is  hap 
pier  or  better.  Old  man,  my  heart  is  heavy 
to-night.  I  have  given  everything,  everything, 
for  a  cause  that  is  worthless,  and  so  have  thou 
sands  of  others." 


262         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

He  hung  his  head  despondently. 

Presently  he  raised  it,  with  a  cynical  smile. 
"  But  nevertheless,  my  defense  of  it  all  is  going 
to  make  a  sensation  to-night." 

"  What,  Seebar,"  exclaimed  Thornton,  alarmed 
at  the  peculiar  tone  of  his  friend,  "  you  won't  at 
tack  Socialism?  " 

"  Bless  you,  no!  I  simply  will  prove  to  myself 
and  you  that  oratory  is  a  hollow  and  insidious  art 
that  really  means  nothing." 

He  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  I  strongly  suspect  what  I  have  been  saying  is 
a  lot  of  rot.  I  certainly  am  not  myself  to-night. 
Please  forget  all  this.  Maybe  it's  the  story  you 
told  me  about  Edgeington.  I  used  to  know  the 
man,  or  perhaps  it's  just  that  world  weariness 
that  comes  over  all  of  us  at  times.  Let's  forget 
it.  Here's  your  health,  old  man,"  and  he  slowly 
raised  the  glass  to  his  lips. 

Suddenly  he  turned  pale,  his  eyes  staring  at 
something  beyond  Thornton;  the  glass  slipped 
from  between  his  fingers,  falling  shattered  on  the 


In  the  Lion's  House  263 

table,  the  wine  flowing  unheeded  over  the  white 
cloth. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  as  his  fingers  clutched 
the  back  of  his  chair  he  grew  steadier,  the  color 
returned  to  his  face,  and  with  a  glint  in  his  eye, 
he  made  his  way  toward  a  couple  who  had  just 
entered  and  were  seating  themselves  a  short  dis 
tance  away. 

In  some  perturbation  Thornton  watched  him. 
Then  as  Seebar's  purpose  became  evident  to  him, 
he  scrutinized  more  closely  this  pair.  The  man 
was  Bornheim,  and  from  his  friend's  excited  man 
ner,  Thornton  judged  who  the  woman  must  be. 
His  doubt  was  removed  by  Seebar's  outburst  of 
speech. 

"  Dorothy,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Bornheim, 
I  am  surprised."  The  young  man  was  turning 
from  the  one  menacingly  to  the  other. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  address  me  thus,  sir," 
exclaimed  Miss  Markham,  a  flush  of  anger  and 
embarrassment  sweeping  over  her  face,  and  she 
sought  Bornheim's  aid. 


264         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

The  politician  laughed,  though  a  bit  uneasily. 

"  Why,  really,  Seebar,  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean.  Miss  Markham  knows  the  Imperial  Hotel. 
She  has  been  here  scores  of  times,  I  have  no 
doubt.  And  besides,  my  dear  man,  what  business 
is  it  of  yours,  anyway?  I  hardly  think  Miss 
Markham  claims  your  acquaintance.  But  sit 
down,  we  are  attracting  attention." 

But  Seebar  paid  no  heed  to  this  unwelcome 
invitation. 

"  Miss  Markham  may  have  been  here  scores  of 
times  when  this  place  was  known  as  the  Imperial 
Hotel,"  he  said,  "  in  fact  I  know  she  has,  for  I 
have  been  in  this  room  with  her  several  times 
myself." 

"  Sit  down,"  reiterated  Bornheim. 

"  You  know,  yourself,  Bornheim,  just  as  well 
as  I  do,"  went  on  Seebar,  as  he  slipped  into  a 
chair,  "  that  the  Imperial  Hotel  is  not  the  same 
as  it  was  eighteen  months  ago.  Bornheim,  if  you 
were  anything  of  a  gentleman,  you  would  not 
bring  her  here." 


In  the  Lion's  House  265 

"  Seebar,  if  this  were  another  time  and  place, 
I'd  knock  you  down." 

"  Mr.  Bornheim,  please, "  interrupted 

Dorothy,  laying  a  protesting  hand  upon  his  arm. 
Then  turning  to  Seebar  she  said :  "  I  wish  to 
tell  you  that  you  gratuitously  insult  Mr.  Born 
heim,  and  indirectly  me.  If  this  place  were 
managed  by  private  individuals,  I  might,  perhaps, 
believe  'that  there  was  some  slight  foundation 
to  your  insinuations,  and  that  Mr.  Bornheim  had 
inadvertently  brought  me  to  a  place  where  the 
conventions  were  different  from  mine.  But  since 
the  Socialists  have  taken  charge  of  the  Imperial 
Hotel,  such  a  thing,  of  course,  must  be  absolutely 
impossible." 

Seebar  ignored  her  attempt  at  sarcasm.  His 
blood  was  up,  and  he  was  resolved  that  she 
should  no  longer  deny  him  a  hearing. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  take  my  words  in  the  spirit 
you  do,"  he  said;  "  I  would  give  the  same  ad 
vice  to  a  complete  stranger.  You  show,  too,  a 
wonderful  inconsistency  in  refusing  acquaintance 


266        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

with  me,  because  I  am  a  Socialist,  and  yet  you 
seem  to  be  able  to  affiliate  with  others  mighty 
easily.  However,  let  that  pass." 

Then  almost  before  she  was  aware  of  the  fact, 
Dorothy  had  begun  a  defense  of  herself.  "  Mr. 
Bornheim  was  very  kind,"  she  declared.  "  He 
was  the  only  friend  of  father  and  myself  when 
we  were  turned  out  of  our  home." 

"  And  yet  your  father  worked  as  a  factory 
hand,  though  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  use  my 
influence " 

But  he  had  stopped  short.  "  I — I  beg  your 
pardon,"  he  said  humbly,  "  I  didn't  mean " 

There  were  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  You  brute "  exclaimed  Bornheim  in  low 

tones,  glancing  toward  Dorothy  to  make  certain 
she  had  heard  his  words. 

Seebar's  answer  was  a  look  of  withering  con 
tempt,  and  the  sight  of  the  man  steeled  him  in  his 
purpose. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Miss  Markham,"  he  went  on,  "  but 
for  nearly  a  year  and  a  half  now  I  have  vainly 


In  the  Lion's  House  267 

attempted  to  speak  with  you.  I  have  my  oppor 
tunity  now,  even  if  there  is  present  a  third  per 
son,  a  person  most  offensive  to  me.  However, 
one  must  take  opportunities  as  he  finds  them. 

"  The  proposition  in  the  beginning  was  simply 
this,  Miss  Markham:  I  loved  you  and  I  was  a 
Socialist.  I  had  secured  leadership.  You  asked 
me  to  abandon  either  it  or  you.  What  course 
could  an  honorable  man  have  pursued?  You 
wronged  me  in " 

"  And  what  about  the  day  you  turned  father 
and  me  out  of  our  home?  " 

"  I  didn't  turn  you  out.  I  was  merely  so  un 
fortunate  as  to  be  present." 

"  You  came  to  gloat  over  our  misfortune." 

"  Dorothy,  you  are  unreasonable." 

"  Will  you  cease  to  annoy  me,  sir?  Either  you 
or  I  must  withdraw.  Mr.  Bornheim,  will  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  escort  me " 

But  Seebar  was  on  his  feet,  white  to  the  lips. 

Leaning  over  the  table,  with  his  arms  support 
ing  him,  he  almost  snarled  out  the  words,  "  Very 


268        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

well,  Dorothy.  But  I  shall  yet  say  to  you  what 
I  mean  to  say.  Moreover,"  he  added,  "  you  will 
regret  that  you  have  acted  as  you  are  doing  now. 
Look  around  you  upon  the  faces  of  the  women 
you  see  here,  and  in  your  own  heart  answer  your 
self  whether  I,  or  this  man,  is  right." 

And  Seebar  had  turned  back  to  where  Thorn 
ton  was  awaiting  him. 

Without  so  much  as  looking  around  to  see 
what  action  Dorothy  and  Bornheim  were  taking, 
Seebar  led  the  way  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  STAMPEDE  IN  THE  NEW 
AUDITORIUM 

OEEBAR'S  speech  that  night  was  a  triumph 
for  the  Socialist  leaders.  It  was  bold,  ag 
gressive,  decisive.  The  real  purpose  of  the  great 
national  celebration  that  day  was  to  quiet  the 
criticism  which  had  so  persistently  been  directed 
against  the  government  for  these  many  weeks 
back.  It  was  to  rouse  enthusiasm,  to  make  the 
discontented  believe  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  ap 
parent  general  loyalty,  they  alone  were  dis 
satisfied. 

At  the  hundred  and  more  banquets,  held  in 
various  quarters  of  the  city,  the  same  ideas  were 
persistently  dwelt  upon — that  there  were  unhappi- 
ness  and  wrong  under  the  Capitalistic  system; 
that  there  were  peace,  plenty,  content,  under  the 

Socialist  regime.     No  reference  was  made  to  the 
269 


270        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

covert  hostility  that  was  manifestly  present  to 
those  who  used  their  eyes  and  ears  and  who 
thought  at  all  seriously. 

But  from  the  program  Seebar's  speech  dif 
fered  radically.  He  recognized  the  condition  that 
existed — boldly  and  openly  he  recognized  it. 
There  were  starts  of  surprise,  uneasy  shifting 
about  in  the  seats,  covert  glances  of  dismay  into 
one  another's  eyes,  on  the  part  of  the  leaders, 
when  Seebar,  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  of 
speaking,  reverted  to  his  old  style  of  oratory, — 
the  style  that  had  made  him  famous  at  a  bound, 
the  style  of  oratory  that  had  helped  win  the  cam 
paign.  He  referred  frankly  and  freely  to  the 
evils  that  existed  at  the  present  time,  and  then 
boldly  challenged  his  auditors  to  deny  that  worse 
evils  had  not  existed  only  a  year  back.  He  did 
not  stand  on  the  defensive.  He  recognized  that 
there  were  enemies  of  the  administration,  ad 
mitted  that  there  were  many  of  them,  and  then 
proceeded  to  attack  them  with  ruthless  vigor. 

Yet,  it  was  with  a  listless  lack  of  interest  that 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium   271 

he  had  begun  his  speech.  Two  other  men  had 
preceded  him,  and  the  applause  that  had  greeted 
them  had  been  obviously  perfunctory,  as  indeed 
had  been  their  speeches. 

It  was  after  the  long  tables  had  been  cleared, 
the  cigars  served,  the  speakers  of  the  evening  as 
sembled,  owing  to  the  vastness  of  the  hall,  on  a 
platform  especially  constructed  for  the  purpose, 
at  one  end. 

Of  the  five  thousand  people  there,  none  could 
have  been  more  disheartened  than  was  Seebar. 
Low  as  his  spirits  had  been  before,  the  scene  in 
the  Lion's  House  had  depressed  him  unut 
terably.  The  cause  he  had  championed  he  began 
to  see  now  in  its  most  unfavorable  light.  Worst 
of  all,  he  had  quarreled  with  Dorothy.  All  hope 
of  reconciliation  with  her  now  seemed  lost. 

His  predecessor  had  finished  his  timidly  con 
servative  speech,  and  Seebar  came  to  the  edge 
of  the  platform,  anxious  for  but  one  thing — to 
get  through  in  not  too  indecent  haste  and  sit 
down.  In  front,  and  to  right  and  left,  the  long 


272         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

tables  stretched  away,  mechanically  measuring 
off  the  audience  seated  around  them,  in^D  rect 
angles.  These  geometrical  figures  reminded  See- 
bar  of  a  multitude  of  garden  plots.  Somehow,  all 
these  people  seemed  to  him  curiously  unpersonal. 
They  formed  merely  a  living  mass,  hardly  exist 
ing  to  him  as  made  up  of  distinct  personalities. 
Only,  well  to  the  middle  of  the  gallery,  in  the 
front  row,  three  men  seemed  to  stand  out  to 
Seebar  as  individuals.  Why  this  was  so,  he  did 
not  think  to  ask  himself.  They  were  far  away — 
too  far  away  for  him  to  note  them  in  any  detail, 
even  had  he  so  desired.  Neither  were  their  ac 
tions  such  as  to  call  for  special  comment,  except 
for  the  fact  that  one  of  them  had  lowered  a  red 
flag' — the  flag  of  the  Socialists — over  the  parapet 
of  the  gallery,  and  occasionally  wafted  it  back 
and  forth  with  a  slow,  gentle  motion. 

Then  as  Seebar  began  to  speak,  down  in  that 
blur  of  faces,  one  that  he  knew  stood  out, — the 
partly  wondering,  partly  curious  face  of  Dorothy 
Markham.  Almost  at  the  same  instant,  side  by 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium    273 

side  with  hers,  he  recognized  the  round  full 
features  of  Bornheim. 

His  listlessness  was  gone.  Surging,  raging 
anger  came  into  his  soul.  She  had  never  heard 
him- — him,  the  great  Seebar,  speak, — the  man 
whose  words  swayed  audiences.  No,  never  would 
it  do  to  belittle  his  own  powers,  now.  The  in 
centive  was  bigger  than  ambition,  more  tre 
mendous  than  the  inspiration  of  woman's  love: 
the  incentive  was  defiance. 

His  voice  strengthened,  his  lips  set,  his  eyes 
blazed,  and  with  them  looking  straight  into  hers, 
he  rose  to  his  flights  of  oratory. 

The  assemblage  thought  he  was  talking  to  it; 
he  was  not.  The  assemblage  thought  his  elo 
quence  was  directed  toward  the  crushing  of  the 
enemies  of  Socialism.  It  was  not.  For  Seebar 
there  was  but  one  auditor,  and  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  he  looked  into  that  one  auditor's 
eyes.  Not  for  Socialism,  not  for  the  administra 
tion,  not  for  the  safety  of  the  state,  he  pleaded, 
but  for  himself. 


274        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

For  a  time  Dorothy  sat  with  a  half -defiant 
look.  Then  presently  her  eyes  grew  fixed  and 
commenced  to  shine,  and  color  was  upon  her 
cheeks.  But  Seebar,  too  intent  upon  his  purpose, 
a  torturing  fire  within  his  breast,  noted  nothing 
of  this,  or  if  he  did,  failed  to  read  the  meaning. 

His  words  fairly  seemed  to  crackle  with  the 
old  class  hatred,  and  yet  he  marshaled  his  argu 
ments — despite  all  his  impetuosity  and  fire — with 
a  consummate  skill.  And  then  Seebar  turned 
from  his  attack  upon  the  opponents  and  critics  to 
a  defense  of  Socialism. 

For  the  moment  he  had  even  forgotten  Doro 
thy.  The  spell  of  his  own  magic  was  upon 
him.  "  We  must  have  patience,  we  must  have 
confidence  in  the  administration.  Can  we  afford 
to  believe  that  the  economic  principles  upon  which 
this  government  is  founded  are  false?  Failure 
for  every  new  form  of  government  has  always 
been  predicted.  When  the  thirteen  colonies  as 
serted  their  independence  as  a  nation,  old  world 
critics  scoffed  at  their  presumption." 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium    275 

At  these  words  he  paused,  and  raised  his  eyes 
from  Dorothy  to  the  gallery. 

Those  were  the  last  words  Seebar  was  ever 
destined  to  utter  as  a  Socialist  leader,  from  the 
platform.  For  the  terrible  thing  had  happened, 
the  terrible  thing  that  Thornton  had  felt  to  be  in 
the  air. 

As  Seebar  uttered  the  words,  "  We  must  have 
confidence  in  the  administration,"  the  man  with 
the  red  flag  cast  the  bunting  from  him  and  rose 
to  his  feet.  From  his  bosom  he  drew  forth  a  long 
strip  of  silk,  also  red,  but  criss-crossed  with  blue 
lines — the  flag  of  the  anarchists — the  blue  to  dis 
tinguish  it  from  the  new  national  flag. 

Leaning  far  forward,  he  whipped  it  with  a 
menacing  snap  out  over  the  heads  of  the  audience. 

Seebar's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  fluttering, 
flame-like  strip. 

Then  before  he  could  adequately  begin  to 
realize  what  was  happening,  the  man's  two  com 
panions  had  also  leaped  to  their  feet. 

He  saw  their  right  fists  shoot  in  air  and  two 


276         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

black  objects  come  hurtling  over  the  heads  of 
the  crowd.  They  fell  to  the  floor,  midway  be 
tween  gallery  and  platform. 

There  was  a  deafening  report.  The  audience 
were  on  their  feet,  an  oscillating  mass  falling 
away  from  the  centre  of  the  hall. 

As  yet  there  were  no  sounds  of  voices.  Noth 
ing  but  the  rush  and  beat  of  feet. 

The  centre  of  the  hall,  from  which  the  people 
were  fleeing,  seemed  to  open  up  like  a  crater. 
Then  from  this  crater's  edge  came  one  long, 
piercing  shriek  of  agony  and  fear. 

It  was  a  heartrending  cry, — a  cry  to  chill  the 
blood.  It  seemed  for  the  moment  to  calm  the 
panic.  Then,  as  the  cry  died  away  to  a  low 
agonized  moan,  the  silence  of  the  crowd  was 
broken  by  a  woman's  hysterical  screams  of  terror. 

The  battle  for  life  was  on  again — the  fierce 
unreasoning  battle, — wild  and  uncontrolled  as  the 
stampede  of  a  herd  of  cattle.  The  brute  instinct 
for  self-preservation  that  thousands  of  years 
could  not  eliminate,  was  uppermost.  Men  fought 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium   277 

and  struggled  and  bellowed  like  bulls,  striking 
and  crushing  down,  with  fist  and  heel,  the  weaker 
and  those  that  stumbled. 

The  gallery,  too,  was  emptying  with  a  roar 
like  a  prolonged  roll  of  thunder. 

Still  the  three  men  remained  as  they  had  risen, 
the  red  flag,  lined  with  blue,  still  fluttering.  But 
no  one  thought  to  arrest  them  where  they  stood. 
They  were  fled  from  as  if  plague-stricken. 

And  then  Seebar,  who  had  been  standing  as 
one  stunned,  awoke  to  a  thought  most  horrible. 
It  was  down  toward  the  centre,  where  the  bombs 
had  been  exploded,  that  Dorothy  had  sat.  He 
looked  at  the  mass  of  broken  chairs,  overturned 
tables,  mingled  with  bodies  and  fragments  of  hu 
man  flesh,  and  the  possibility  of  the  utter  awful- 
ness  of  the  situation  to  him  caused  him  to  turn 
his  gaze  away  in  horror. 

Where  were  Dorothy  and  Bornheim?  Some 
where  in  that  mass?  God — he  could  not  endure 
the  thought! 

He  half-started  to  leap  from  the  platform  down 


278        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

into  the  hall,  then  paused  in  doubt  as  to  what 
were  best  to  do. 

At  his  elbow  some  one  was  standing,  shouting 
to  the  people,  but  his  words  were  swallowed  up 
in  the  din.  Others  of  the  leaders  already  had 
made  their  escape  through  exits  immediately 
back  of  the  platform. 

If  Dorothy  had  escaped  the  bombs,  she  was 
somewhere  in  that  struggling  crowd,  and  what 
hope  was  there  of  his  discovering  her?  If  by 
some  miracle  he  did  chance  to  catch  sight  of 
her,  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  reach  her 
side. 

There  was  but  one  way  to  satisfy  himself  of 
her  safety — that  was  to  slip  out  of  the  little  door 
immediately  to  his  rear,  and  place  himself  at  the 
one  big  exit  through  which  the  crowd  were  now 
tumbling  in  mad,  terror-stricken  frenzy. 

And  turning  from  the  frightful  scene  before 
him,  he  rushed  across  the  stage  and  down  a  flight 
of  narrow  steps  which  led  through  the  little  door, 
to  the  street. 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium   279 

Outside,  it  was  as  if  half  the  inhabitants  of  the 
city  were  there,  so  dense  was  the  throng,  for  the 
news  of  the  bomb-throwing  had  spread  with  the 
speed  of  light.  The  street  and  all  the  thorough 
fares  leading  to  it  were  jammed.  It  was  only  by 
sheer  breadth  of  shoulder  that  Seebar  was  able 
to  fight  his  way,  inch  by  inch,  through  the  mass, 
and  force  his  way  opposite  the  main  exit. 

The  wide  doors  were  disgorging  their  human 
contents.  The  people  shot  forth, — a  literal  tor 
rent, — eyes  wide-staring  and  unseeing,  faces 
ghastly  pale,  gleaming  with  perspiration,  hands 
thrust  out  before  them,  upon  the  solid  wall  of 
spectators,  who  stood  gazing  in  silent  horror  at 
the  scene. 

Women,  safe,  shuddered  and  wept  and 
fainted,  and  men  stood,  trembling,  weak,  and  un 
nerved,  after  their  terrible  ordeal,  scarce  able  to 
support  themselves.  Still  the  horde  thundered 
and  plunged  to  safety. 

A  line  of  red-coated  police  from  time  to  time 
renewed  their  efforts  to  force  back  the  crowd  of 


280        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

onlookers,  but  they  could  do  no  more  than  hold 
the  mass  from  further  encroaching. 

And  then,  to  all  this — the  police,  the  crowd,  the 
confusion — Seebar  became  oblivious,  his  atten 
tion  completely  concentrated  on  the  faces  of  the 
women  who  were  being  swept  in  the  panic  out 
to  safety.  Surely,  Dorothy  would,  must,  appear 
soon! 

Then  all  at  once  his  heart  seemed  to  stop  beat 
ing.  A  face — it  might  be  hers;  he  could  not  be 
certain,  half  hidden  as  it  was  by  the  strands  of 
her  disheveled  hair, — had  flashed  pale  and  terri' 
fied,  up  among  the  sea  of  other  faces,  for  an 
instant,  and  then  was  gone.  She  had  fallen,  and 
half  a  dozen  others  had  stumbled  and  fallen  with 
her. 

He  sprang  forward,  but  was  met  by  that  line 
of  policemen.  He  struggled,  but  in  vain,  for  they 
forced  him  back  roughly. 

Up  peered  another  face,  round  and  pallid,  the 
dark  hair  sticking  to  the  hot  pale  brow.  It  was 
the  face  of  Bornheim! 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium   281 

Seebar's  last  hope  vanished.  So  close  behind 
her,  it  must  have  been  she!  Again  he  tried  to 
break  through  the  line,  only  this  time  to  be  struck 
back  violently. 

Then  another  woman's  face  came  to  view,  chin 
thrust  forward,  eyes  and  nostrils  distended,  hair 
tumbling  about  her  ears,  a  little  stream  of  blood 
coursing  down  the  right  cheek. 

Seebar's  heart  gave  one  great  leap.  There  was 
no  mistaking  it  this  time — it  was  Dorothy  Mark- 
ham.  He  could  see  now  that  Bornheim  had  a 
firm  hold  upon  her  arm,  was  leading  her  and 
breaking  the  way,  and  for  the  first  and  last  time, 
he  felt  a  thrill  of  thankfulness  that  Bornheim 
was  with  her  to  protect  her. 

Seebar  had  forgotten  the  quarrel,  forgotten 
that  his  relations  with  Dorothy  Markham  were 
ended;  he  knew  only  that  the  girl  he  loved  with 
an  intense  passionate  love  stronger  than  life 
itself  had  been  in  the  greatest  danger  of  death, 
death  in  a  most  horrible  form. 

As  the  pale,  weary  face,  bloodstained,  emerged 


282         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

like  a  broken  flower,  his  heart  went  out  to  her 
as  to  a  child.  "  Poor  little  girl,"  he  thought,  and 
his  outstretched  arms  had  closed  around  her. 
For  a  moment  he  held  her  close,  and  she  in  her 
bewilderment  did  not  heed  him.  Overcome  with 
fright  and  exhaustion  she  had  let  her  head  sink  to 
his  shoulder.  She  was  gasping  dry,  panting  sobs. 
Her  arms  clung  to  him  as  if  for  protection. 

"  There,  there,  dear,"  he  said,  heedless  of  his 
surroundings,  "  it's  all  right  now.  You  are  safe." 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

Presently  she  grew  calmer,  and  looked  up.  A 
half-puzzled,  half -wondering  look  came  into  her 
eyes.  Then  she  took  a  step  back.  "  Dorothy," 
Seebar  began,  "  Dorothy !  " 

But  she  had  turned  to  Bornheim. 

"  Oh,  take  me  away,  take  me  away,"  she 
begged. 

Already  Bornheim,  with  his  arm  about  her  in 
support,  was  forcing  his  way  through  a  narrow 
lane  that  had  been  opened  up  for  the  fleeing 
banqueters. 


The  Stampede  in  the  New  Auditorium   283 

For  a  moment  or  so  Seebar  stared  after  them, 
the  old  despair  gnawing  at  his  soul.  Apparently 
she  had  made  a  choice — a  choice  between  him 
and  Bornheim,  in  favor  of  the  latter.  Then 
almost  mechanically,  he  followed,  without  a 
thought  as  to  why  he  did  so.  Perhaps  it  was 
because  he  could  not  bear  thus  to  have  her  leave 
him,  perhaps  it  was  because  he  felt  that  from 
what  he  had  observed  in  the  cafe  she  was  no 
longer  quite  safe  with  Bornheim. 

They  were  a  long  time  in  getting  clear  of  the 
crowd,  but  they  were  clear  at  last. 

For  a  distance  of  three  blocks  Seebar  followed 
them,  and  then  they  turned  aside  into  one  of  the 
municipal  hotels.  In  the  rotunda  they  separated, 
taking  elevators  to  the  right  and  left.  It  was  a 
long  time,  perhaps  an  hour,  that  Seebar  waited, 
seated  in  the  depths  of  a  big  easy-chair,  well 
hidden  behind  a  huge,  square  pillar. 

Few  people  were  entering  the  building,  but 
many  were  hurriedly  leaving  it.  On  the  faces  of 
many  of  these  anguish  was  written,  and  Seebar 


284        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

could  guess  with  a  sympathetic  pang  that  they 
had  friends  or  relatives  at  the  great  jubilee  ban 
quet  at  the  New  Auditorium. 

Through  the  windows  he  could  look  out  into 
the  street.  A  constant  stream  of  people  was  hur 
rying  by  in  the  direction  from  which  he  had 
just  come. 

He  thought  of  the  affair  of  the  bomb-throwing 
only  as  a  single  isolated  outbreak.  In  no  way  did 
he  connect  it  with  a  conspiracy  primarily  caused 
by  the  unsatisfactory  manner  in  which  the  So 
cialistic  principles  were  working  themselves  out. 

Just  as  Seebar  little  dreamed  what  would  be 
the  far-reaching  effects  of  the  bomb-throwing  of 
that  night,  so  did  the  anarchists  themselves  ap 
parently  have  no  conception  of  the  widespread 
results  their  outrage  would  produce.  It  created 
the  upheaval  of  the  discontented  of  all  beliefs, 
that  struck  Socialism  such  a  terrible  blow.  The 
anarchists,  the  disaffected  Socialists,  the  In 
dividualists,  were  one  in  the  terrible  insurrection 
in  Chicago  that  horrified  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XX 


O  EEBAR  had  sat  for  a  long  time,  perhaps  an 
hour,  when  the  heavy-set  and  dignified 
Bornheim  stepped  out  of  one  of  the  elevators 
descending  on  the  right.  In  spite  of  the  life-and- 
death  rush  and  struggle  in  which  he  had  so 
recently  been  engaged,  he  appeared  as  fresh,  as 
well  groomed,  as  complacent  as  ever  he  had.  He 
was  drawing  on  a  pair  of  gloves,  and  a  cigar 
was  between  his  lips. 

He  crossed  the  rotunda  halfway,  paused,  and 
then  began  pacing  slowly  back  and  forth. 

Seebar  studied  him  intently. 

What  was  it  that  Dorothy  Markham  saw  in 
this  man?  he  wondered.  Or  did  she  see  anything 
in  him,  after  all  ?  Handsome,  virile,  and  master 
ful,  he  certainly  was — characteristics  that  are  sup 
posed  to  appeal  to  every  woman.  But  he  was 
285 


286        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

not  Dorothy's  kind.  Of  that  Seebar's  intimate 
acquaintance  with  his  old  sweetheart  absolutely 
assured  him. 

What  were  their  present  relations?  Was 
Bornheim  received  merely  as  a  friend,  or  as  a 
lover?  Lastly,  what  was  Bornheim' s  attitude  of 
mind  toward  her?  Seebar  would  have  stricken 
ten  years  from  his  life  to  have  had  these  ques 
tions  answered. 

As  he  gazed  and  pondered,  from  the  long,  red- 
lined  hallway,  to  the  left,  Dorothy  herself  ap 
peared.  The  cloak  she  had  worn  in  the  cafe  had 
been  lost  in  the  flight  from  the  New  Auditorium, 
and  her  gown  had  been  badly  torn.  These  finer 
garments  had  been  replaced  by  much  plainer  and 
simpler  ones — evidently  secured  at  the  hotel. 
Her  hair  had  been  rearranged,  and  except  for  a 
slight  pallor,  she  had  never  appeared  to  greater 
advantage  in  Seebar's  eyes. 

He  almost  groaned  aloud  as  she  took  Born- 
heim's  arm  in  a  manner  that  indicated  absolute 
assurance  of  protection,  and  the  two  came  down 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        287 

the  broad  corridor,  past  where  Seebar  was  seated, 
and  out  into  the  street. 

In  an  instant  Seebar  was  on  his  feet  and  after 
them. 

Through  the  ever  thickening  throngs,  the  two 
threaded  their  way  for  several  blocks.  At  first 
Seebar  hung  back,  fearing  detection,  but  as 
neither  at  any  time  turned  to  look  back,  he  gained 
in  confidence,  and,  drawing  closer,  he  was  pres 
ently  walking  directly  behind  them. 

It  was  not  out  of  mere  curiosity,  or  through 
jealousy  that  he  had  taken  upon  himself  this  task 
of  detective.  Always  uncertain  of  Bornheim,  the 
fact  that  he  would  take  Dorothy  to  such  a  place 
as  the  Lion's  House,  brought  Seebar  to  believe 
she  was  no  longer  safe  with  the  man.  He  felt 
fully  justified  in  following  them. 

Suddenly  the  pair  took  an  unexpected  turn  to 
the  left  and  came  to  a  dead  halt  at  the  entrance 
to  a  building;  and  Seebar,  before  he  also 
could  come  to  a  stop,  almost  stumbled  against 
them.  But  they  did  not  heed  him,  as  he  slunk  by. 


288         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

There  followed  a  moment's  earnest  conversa 
tion,  and  then  Dorothy  entered  the  building, 
which  Seebar  now  recognized  as  the  old  Russian 
Exchange.  Bornheim  went  on  slowly  to  the 
corner,  paused,  apparently  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  and  then  came  walking  back  briskly,  and 
also  entered  the  building.  Seebar  was  but  a 
moment  behind  him. 

Only  one  elevator  was  running.  The  indicator 
showed  that  it  was  somewhere  near  the  top  of 
the  building.  But  at  last,  after  what  seemed  to 
Seebar  an  inexpressibly  long  time,  the  cage  de 
scended. 

"  On  which  floor  did  my  friend  get  out?  "  See 
bar  asked  carelessly  of  the  old  man  in  charge. 

"  The  top,"  answered  the  man.  He  eyed  See 
bar  intently,  as  if  he  would  fathom  his  character. 
Then  he  added,  "  We  don't  run  quite  to  the  top, 
you  know.  People  get  out  on  the  thirtieth  floor, 
and  walk  up  to  the  last." 
.  "  Thank  you,"  replied  Seebar. 

The  man  began  to  talk  further  as  the  elevator 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        289 

ascended.  "  Mr.  Bornheim  comes  here  often  in 
the  daytime." 

"  Yes  ?  "  answered  Seebar. 

"  Miss  Markham's  a  fine  young  lady."  He 
spoke  as  if  feeling  his  way. 

"  Indeed  she  is."  Seebar's  words  were  of  un 
mistakable  warmth. 

"  You  won't  mind,  will  you — you  won't  take  it 
as  an  offense,  now,  will  you,  if  I  say  that — • — " 

The  elevator  had  reached  the  top,  the  door  was 
open,  but  Seebar  stood  looking  into  the  old  man's 
half -doubtful,  half -deprecating  eyes. 

"If  you  say  what?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man  slowly,  "  I  can  see 
that  you're  the  right  sort,  sir,  and  I  can  see  that 
Miss  Markham  is  the  right  sort,  too.  She  always 
has  a  smile  and  a  word  for  me.  But  I  think  she 
— I  don't  understand  Mr.  Bornheim's  coming  up 
this  way.  She  told  me  she  was  in  a  hurry — 
had  come  up  to  find  something — but  no  doubt 
it's  all  right,"  he  added,  again  growing  apologetic, 
"  though  no  one  else  is  up  here  to-night.  It  must 


290        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

be  because  of  that  awful  explosion.  Can  you 
tell  me  just  what  did  happen?  " 

But  Seebar  already  had  found  his  way  to  the 
stairs  indicated,  and  was  climbing  them  rapidly, 
but  quietly. 

He  had  not  thought  to  ask  the  elevator  man 
the  number  of  Dorothy's  suite  of  rooms,  and  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  he  paused  a  moment,  un 
certain  whether  to  go  to  the  right  or  to  the  left. 
But  down  the  hall  some  distance,  a  solitary  light 
showed  through  the  glazed  glass  transom  of  the 
door,  and  with  a  few  rapid,  silent  strides,  Seebar 
was  before  it. 

He  had  got  beyond  the  point  of  reflecting  now 
why  he  was  there.  If  he  had  thought  to  hesitate, 
to  chide  himself  for  being  an  officious  fool  in 
thrusting  himself  to  the  fore  as  a  protector  where 
no  protector  was  needed,  the  broad  hint  of  the 
elevator  man  had  caused  all  doubt  to  vanish. 
With  his  love  of  Dorothy  still  as  strong,  as  un 
quenchable  as  ever,  with  his  knowledge  of  Born- 
heim's  reputation  and  character,  he  might  even 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio         291 

now  have  set  his  suspicions  down  as  being  over- 
edged.  But  when  the  eyes  of  the  old  man  saw 
danger,  too,  he  was  thankful  he  had  put  himself 
there. 

Inside  he  could  hear  the  sound  of  voices,  and 
occasionally  a  slight  exclamation,  then  a  little 
laugh. 

The  minutes  passed  and  still  the  sound  of  voices 
continued.  More  than  once  Seebar  was  sorely 
tempted  to  try  the  door,  but  each  time  better 
judgment  prevailed  and  he  waited.  It  was  a 
slight  affair,  even  were  it  locked,  and  if  she 
needed  help  he  could  easily  force  it.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  if  aid  were  required  she  would  cry 
aloud  for  it. 

Seebar  was  all  on  edge.  Indignation,  too,  was 
mingled  with  his  excitement.  In  any  event,  what 
did  Bornheim  mean  by  compromising  Dorothy 
in  this  manner?  But  as  time  went  on,  the 
muscles  of  his  legs  began  to  grow  weary,  and 
the  first  fever  of  his  excitement  had  cooled  down. 
Still  alert,  he  waited. 


292        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Now  and  then  the  voices  sunk  to  low  mur 
murs,  or  died  away,  for  brief  intervals,  altogether. 
Suddenly,  after  a  longer  pause  than  usual  of  this 
kind,  there  came  a  sort  of  gasping,  choking  cry, 
which  was  instantly  smothered.  Then  a  woman's 
voice  rang  out,  "  Oh,  how  can  you  ?  " 

And  then  as  Seebar,  hearing  a  hand  on  the 
knob,  shrank  back  close  against  the  wall,  the 
door  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  Bornheim  and 
Dorothy  stood  to  view.  He  had  the  girl's  left 
hand  clasped  firmly  in  his  right,  his  other  arm 
about  her  waist.  Evidently  it  was  she  who  had 
opened  the  door,  for  she  still  clung  to  the  knob, 
and  Bornheim's  attitude  was  that  of  one  who 
had  captured  her  in  flight. 

She  was  looking  up  at  him  with  distressed  face. 
"  Don't,"  she  said  quite  gently,  "  please  don't,  I 
don't  love  you.  I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't.  I  can't 
marry  you " 

And  then  she  stopped,  as  if  something  she  sud 
denly  saw  in  Bornheim's  eyes  alarmed  her. 

But  his  hold  only  tightened.     "  I  didn't  say 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        293 

anything  about  marrying,"  he  answered.  "  I 
asked  you  if  you  loved  me.  What  do  I,  what 
do  you,  want  to  marry  for?  To-night  every  in 
stitution  of  the  past  falls.  Why,  the  city  is  rife 
with  anarchy.  Socialism  only  took  halfway 
measures.  To-night  comes  the  cataclysm.  Every 
civil  institution  will  vanish.  Man  has  fretted  for 
ages  under  the  curse  of  wedded  life.  Now  to 
night  will  begin  a  new  era — the  era  of  free  love, 
— where  each  may  claim  for  himself  his  mate  for 
how  or  when  he  pleases.  So  you  see  I  did  not 
ask  you  to  marry  me.  Come,  dear,  we  are  alone 
here  together,  all  alone !  " 

His  eyes  were  glowing  into  hers  like  coals  of 
fire. 

"  Don't,  don't  touch  me,"  she  cried,  "  let  me 
go,"  and  she  began  to  struggle,  "  oh,  please  let 
me  go." 

"  You  might  cry  yourself  hoarse,"  was  his 
answer.  "  We  are  alone  here,  absolutely  alone. 
No  one  is  on  this  floor,  no  one  is  in  this  building, 
except  that  decrepit  old  fool  who  runs  the  eleva- 


294        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

tor.  By  God,  you  shall  love  me,  whether  you 
will  or  no !  "  And  he  gathered  her  in  his  arms  in 
a  crushing  embrace,  and  forced  kiss  after  kiss 
upon  her  lips.  And  then  drawing  back,  holding 
her  by  the  wrists  at  arms'  length,  he  looked  down 
into  her  terrified  eyes  and  laughed. 

"  You  beast !  "  she  cried,  and  with  a  strong  ef 
fort  she  jerked  away  one  arm  and  threw  her  body 
against  the  doorpost,  struggling  there,  while  he 
still  held  her,  laughing  at  her  futile  efforts. 

"  Oh,  God,  God  help  me,"  she  cried. 

Bornheim  had  one  glimpse  of  a  fierce,  white 
face,  of  eyes  big  and  black  with  passion,  set  jaws, 
and  then,  even  as  he  slipped  his  hold  from  the 
girl,  a  fist  came  crashing  against  his  shoulder, 
and  he  spun  back  and  down. 

Dazed,  a  bit  shaken,  but  apparently  not  hurt 
a  particle,  he  was  on  his  feet. 

"  I'll  kill  you,"  he  exclaimed,  and  made  a 
motion  toward  the  pocket  of  his  trousers. 

Seebar  struck  at  him  again,  and  then  as  he  felt 
the  man's  hands  come  up  toward  his  throat  he 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        295 

closed  with  him.  They  swayed  together  around 
the  room  for  a  moment,  neither  able  to  obtain  a 
grip  that  was  decisive,  or  to  shake  the  other's 
hold. 

There  came  a  jar  and  a  crash,  and  Seebar  felt 
himself  falling.  Withal,  he  could  hear,  in  a  dim 
sort  of  way,  a  woman's  shrill  scream.  Then  he 
struck  something  hard  and  cold,  and  found  him 
self  on  his  back,  with  a  strangely  horrible  pain 
shooting  through  his  spine  and  a  heavy  weight 
on  top  of  him. 

Opening  his  eyes  he  discovered  the  weight  to 
be  Bornheim.  He  lay  motionless,  collecting  his 
thoughts.  The  pain  in  his  back  was  not  so  severe 
as  it  had  been  a  moment  ago.  The  cold  air  was 
beating  around  them,  and  as  he  looked  straight 
up  he  could  see  the  clear  brightness  of  the  stars 
through  broken  masses  of  clouds,  slowly  stealing 
along  in  the  night.  Black  and  gaunt,  partly  ob 
scuring  the  view  of  the  heavens,  naked  steel 
girders  were  reared  above  him. 

Later  he  understood  what  had  happened.    They 


296        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

had  fallen  against  the  window,  and  had  crashed 
through  and  down  upon  part  of  the  structure 
where  the  building  was  unfinished. 

The  fall  had  been  a  matter  of  but  a  foot  or  so, 
for  there  just  above  his  head  was  the  window, 
with  its  great  jagged  gap  made  by  their  fall, 
showing  sharp  against  the  light  of  the  room,  into 
which  Seebar  could  see,  and  there  Dorothy 
crouched,  too,  staring  out  into  the  semi-gloom. 

Seebar  wondered  how  much  support  there  was 
to  right  or  left.  They  had  evidently  alighted  on 
some  sort  of  a  workman's  platform.  As  Seebar 
still  lay  motionless,  Bornheim's  face  pressed  hard 
against  his  shoulder,  and  his  breathing  sounded 
heavy  in  his  ear. 

Seebar  put  out  his  right  arm.  From  the  shoul 
der  down  it  fell  away  into  space.  Startled,  slowly 
he  rolled  his  head  to  one  side.  He  gasped  and 
his  body  seemed  to  shrink.  He  was  lying  at  the 
brink  of  space  itself.  Thirty  stories  below  lay 
the  vast  burst  of  city  lights.  How  wide  was  the 
support  that  sustained  them? 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        297 

The  position  in  which  Bornheim  was  lying 
prevented  Seebar's  turning  his  eyes  to  the  left, 
but  he  was  able  to  reach  out  his  hand.  For  the 
little  distance  he  could  stretch  his  fingers  he  found 
solid  plank.  They  were  lying  upon  a  platform 
several  feet  at  least  in  width.  At  most,  how  much 
more? 

He  turned  again  to  the  right.  The  lights 
blurred  his  vision,  and  closing  his  eyes,  it  was  as 
if  he  were  swirling  round  and  round  in  space, 
while  an  infinite  field  of  dark  red  seemed  to  shift 
and  glide  endlessly. 

Then  he  looked  up  again  at  the  cool  stars, 
twinkling  through  the  broken  masses  of  clouds. 
A  cold  gust  of  wind  chilled  his  face,  and  space 
above,  and  space  below,  and  blowing  winds,  over 
whelmed  him  with  the  ineffable  terror  of  his 
position. 

He  strove  to  shift  his  body  to  get  away  from 
the  abyss  at  his  right,  but  Bornheim's  weight 
pressed  him  down.  Then  for  the  first  time  he 
wondered  what  ailed  the  man.  Why  did  he  not 


298         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

get  up?  Why  did  he  remain  motionless ?  Except 
for  his  heavy  breathing  he  gave  no  sign  of  life 
whatever. 

Again  Seebar  strove  to  rise  and  then,  with  a 
fierce  strength  that  alarmed  him,  he  felt  the 
other's  arms  gather  around  his  body  in  a  strong, 
resistless  hold.  Bornheim's  head  was  raised,  too, 
and  Seebar  found  himself  looking  into  a  pair  of 
staring,  unseeing  eyes.  The  grip  of  the  arm  was 
not  the  grip  of  aggressive  battle;  the  look  in  the 
eyes  was  not  the  look  of  hatred.  The  grapple, 
the  stare,  were  those  of  the  subdued  animal — not 
the  man  in  fighting  mood. 

And  then  Seebar  understood  that  the  man  was 
laboring  under  fear — a  fear  as  unreasoning  as 
that  of  a  drowning  man — that  made  him  clutch 
wildly,  as  if,  by  sheer  strength,  he  would  steady 
the  support  that  moved  under  him.  The  terrible 
falling  fear  was  upon  the  man. 

Seebar  knew  vaguely  there  was  such  a  thing, 
had  heard  of  structural  steel  workers  on  the  lofty 
heights  of  skyscraper  or  suspension  bridge,  be- 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        299 

coming  possessed  of  this  appalling,  unreasoning 
horror. 

He  lay  still  for  a  little,  thinking  what  to  do, 
Bornheim  meantime  slowly  sinking  into  his 
former  posture. 

To  the  left  the  platform  probably  did  not  reach 
far.  It  is  true,  Seebar  could  not  touch  the  edge 
with  his  fingers.  But  an  arm's  length  is  a  very 
short  distance.  Again  he  rolled  his  head  to  the 
right,  and  as  he  looked  downward  he  had  once 
more  the  sensation  of  floating  in  air.  It  was  a 
sensation  that  made  his  body  shrink. 

His  single,  his  overwhelming  desire  in  life  was 
to  get  away  from  the  edge  of  that  abyss,  coupled 
with  anger  against  the  man  who  prevented  his 
doing  so. 

He  braced  himself  at  shoulders  and  heels,  and 
stiffening  his  back  and  using  his  elbows  as  jacks, 
suddenly  heaved  with  all  his  strength. 

He  could  feel  Bornheim's  arms  tighten  around 
him  like  the  coils  of  a  serpent.  The  man's  weight 
was  a  fearful  incubus.  But  they  had  moved — 


3OO        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

half-lifted,  half-rolled  by  Seebar's  convulsive  ef 
fort,  to  the  left. 

Now  for  the  first  time  Seebar  could  really  take 
in  the  significance  of  the  situation.  It  was  a  most 
narrow  platform  they  were  upon — separated 
from  the  window,  from  where  they  had  fallen, 
by  a  gap  of  perhaps  a  yard — just  a  mere  bit  of 
a  raft  in  the  vast  circumambient  ocean  of  at 
mosphere. 

Raising  his  eyes  to  the  window  again,  he  saw 
Dorothy  leaning  forward  in  alert,  intent  pose, 
with  hands  tightly  folded.  Even  in  his  own  dis 
tress  he  had  time  for  a  flashing  thought  of  pity 
for  her.  She  could  not,  of  course,  understand. 
To  her  the  two  firmly  clasped  in  each  other's 
arms  must  present  a  picture  of  physical  combat. 
He  found  himself  wondering  at  his  thus  imagin 
ing  and  analyzing  her  introspection.  It  was  like 
a  dream  within  a  dream. 

Once  more  the  feeling  of  anger,  replacing  these 
thoughts,  surged  through  him.  He  experienced 
a  mad,  fierce  desire  to  tear  this  clinging  mass  of 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        301 

flesh  from  him  and  hurl  it  down,  down  to  the 
streets  where  the  light  lay  like  white  fog. 

He  began  to  work  his  arms  to  a  freer  position. 
Gradually  he  got  them  over  his  head.  Then  his 
fingers  felt  for  Bornheim's  throat,  and  with  a 
savage,  ruthless  clutch  they  closed  upon  it. 

The  man  gagged  and  struggled,  fighting  hard 
for  his  breath.  His  arms  fell  away  from  around 
Seebar's  shoulders,  and  he  began  to  work  his 
hands  in  a  strange  pushing  sort  of  action,  to 
shove  away  the  thing  that  choked  him.  Then  his 
grasp  sought  Seebar's  wrists,  but  Seebar  let  go 
the  throat  and  his  fingers  closed  around  his 
antagonist's  wrists,  instead.  Bornheim  was  no 
longer  on  top  of  him.  Both  were  now  lying  side 
by  side.  With  a  quick,  adroit  motion,  Seebar 
suddenly  let  go,  and  sprang  upon  his  feet,  with 
only  a  bit  of  a  platform,  five  feet  wide  by  twice 
its  length,  to  sustain  him  above  a  gulf  five 
hundred  feet  deep. 

As  he  stood,  half-giddy,  measuring  the  gap  that 
separated  him  from  the  window  and  safety,  he 


302         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

felt  himself  seized  around  the  knees  with  a  force 
that  well-nigh  threw  him.  It  was  as  mad  a  thing 
to  let  this  man,  fear-stricken,  cowering,  grapple 
with  him  as  it  would  be  were  he  drowning  in  the 
sea. 

For  the  second  time  that  night  Seebar  struck 
him — struck  him  a  swinging,  glancing  blow  that 
put  him  again  on  his  back.  Then  he  turned, 
running  along  the  narrow  steel  beam  to  the 
window,  where  he  placed  his  hands  upon  the  sill. 
In  ordinary  mood  he  could  not  have  done  that, 
though  his  life  depended  upon  it.  But  he  was  not 
in  ordinary  mood.  He  was  fresh  from  the  strug 
gle  of  freeing  himself  from  a  man  possessed  of 
the  terror  of  a  child  and  the  strength  of  a  giant. 
To  get  away  from  that,  for  the  instant,  was  his 
one  thought. 

Dorothy,  quick-witted  girl,  was  already 
fumbling  at  the  catch.  Then  up  shot  the  sash, 
and  Seebar  had  lifted  himself  into  the  room, 
and  was  leaning  against  the  wall  for  support, 
pale  and  trembling. 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        303 

"  Oh,"  cried  Dorothy,  pointing  with  out 
stretched  fingers  at  his  arm,  "  you  are  hurt !  " 

Her  face  was  absolutely  colorless,  and  she  half- 
reeled  as  she  pointed. 

A  gash,  as  if  made  by  the  single  stroke  of  a 
huge  shears,  was  in  his  left  coat  sleeve  near  the 
shoulder,  and  through  this  the  blood  was  oozing 
into  the  dark  cloth. 

He  patted  it  softly  with  his  right  hand,  and 
the  cloth  felt  wet  and  spongy  to  the  touch.  As 
he  drew  his  hand  away  the  palm  showed  a  bright 
deep  red,  and  as  he  gazed  upon  it  wonderingly, 
for  he  felt  no  pain,  Seebar  half-sickened  at  the 
sight. 

And  then  Dorothy  did  the  very  natural  thing — 
the  thing  that  many  another  girl  would  have  done 
long  ago — fainted.  She  fell  before  Seebar  could 
reach  her  side,  but  she  fell  lightly,  her  shoulders 
striking  the  soft  edge  of  the  couch  that  stood 
against  the  wall,  and  thence  she  slipped  quietly 
to  the  floor. 

He  lifted  her  gently,  very  gently,  and  laid  her 


304        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

on  the  sofa,  with  a  cushion  under  her  head.  She 
was  very  pale  and  still,  and  her  hand  was  cold 
to  his  touch.  Her  breathing,  to  his  anxious  eye, 
seemed  fearfully  light. 

Seebar,  for  the  moment,  was  nearly  beside  him 
self.  What  if  this  final  shock  had  been  too  much 
for  her  ?  Suppose  she  were  to  die  ? 

The  perils,  the  events  of  the  night  were  all 
forgotten — forgotten  the  great  gash  in  his  arm, 
from  which  the  blood  was  now  shaken  unheeded 
on  the  green  rug,  as  he  paced  back  and  forth  in 
his  anxiety;  forgotten  the  wild  din  and  up 
roar  in  the  city;  the  battle  with  the  man  still 
lying  out  there,  fear-helpless,  on  the  bit  of  plank 
in  space. 

Then  he  thought  of  outside  aid  and  sprang  to 
the  telephone.  But  no  response  came  from  the 
operator.  If  he  had  known  at  that  moment  the 
condition  of  affairs  in  the  city,  he  would  not  have 
wondered  why.  He  waited  a  minute,  while  each 
second  seemed  that  length  of  time.  Then  with 
a  gesture  of  despair  he  threw  down  the  receiver 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        305 

and  rushed  for  the  elevator  shaft.  He  rang 
again  and  again,  stamping  with  impotent  im 
patience,  but  the  single  elevator  that  was  running 
some  time  before  did  not  respond. 

He  could  wait  no  longer.  If  help  were  to  be 
worth  while  it  must  come  at  once.  Down  the 
stairs  he  dashed,  two  and  three  steps  at  a 
time.  At  each  landing  he  seemed  to  gain  a  new 
impetus. 

When  finally  he  did  reach  the  street  he  was 
breathless  and  dizzy.  Then  for  the  first  time  was 
he  aware  of  the  tremendous  upheaval  in  the  city. 
The  people  seemed  possessed  by  some  strange 
excitement.  They  swept  through  the  streets,  all 
bent  apparently  for  the  same  destination.  From 
wall  to  wall  of  the  street  was  a  mass  of  heaving 
heads  and  shoulders. 

Seebar  in  vain  attempted  to  face  this  sea. 
Again  and  again  he  strove,  but  was  flung  back 
each  time — and  once  he  nearly  went  down.  And 
then  he  realized  that  his  efforts  to  breast  the  tor 
rent  were  absolutely  futile,  and  that  if  he  would 


306        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

seek  a  doctor  for  Dorothy  it  must  be  in  the 
direction  in  which  the  mob  was  going. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 
he  yelled  in  the  ear  of  a  man  who  had  reached 
down  grasping  his  collar  to  save  him,  the  last 
time. 

"  It's  a  revolution,"  the  other  shouted  back 
above  the  thunder  and  roar  of  feet.  Then 
he  added,  bringing  his  lips  closer  to  Seebar's 
ear: 

"  We've  had  altogether  too  much  of  this 
damned  Furst." 

The  next  instant  the  shifting  torrent  swept  the 
two  apart. 

A  revolution — a  revolution  against  Socialism! 
Was  it  possible,  was  it  credible?  Seebar's 
memory  swung  back  a  year  to  the  night  when 
he  had  been  borne,  as  he  was  being  borne  to 
night,  by  a  mob  down  into  La  Salle  Street.  He 
remembered  the  boy — the  mischievous,  red- 
haired  boy — whose  high-keyed  voice  had  sent  the 
mob,  first  laughing,  then  more  serious,  into  the 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        307 

banking  section  of  the  city.  The  mob  that  night 
had  been  possessed  by  a  different  spirit  than  now. 
It  had  been  light-hearted,  relieved  after  a  great 
political  campaign,  in  which  it  had  won,  and  in 
which  the  issues  had  appeared  more  vital  than 
in  any  previous  campaign  in  the  country's  his 
tory.  Yet  that  night  its  good  nature  had  turned 
to  license  and  bloodshed.  If  the  spirit  of  revolt 
had  really  set  in — Seebar  shuddered  at  thought 
of  the  turn  this  spirit  might  take.  He  knew  that 
there  was  discontent,  bitter,  savage  discontent, 
with  the  condition  of  things — he  had  heard  com 
plaints  on  every  side  during  the  past  several 
months.  But  these  complaints  had  not  been 
directed  against  Socialism,  as  a  practical  working 
principle,  so  much  as  against  the  government  of 
ficials  themselves, — the  men  who  were  putting  the 
Socialistic  principles  into  execution.  Yet  he  could 
not  believe  that  there  was  a  wide-spread  con 
spiracy  to  overthrow  the  government.  The  bomb- 
throwing,  he  knew,  was  the  expression  of  neither 
disaffected  Socialists  nor  Individualists.  The 


308         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

flaunted  flag,  red  with  blue  stripes,  had  been  that 
of  anarchy. 

Still  he  was  rocked  and  swayed  with  the  crowd 
— onward,  ever  onward. 

Through  all  this  train  of  thought,  another  more 
pertinent  idea  was  running  also,  like  the  beating 
of  a  nerve  in  pain.  Not  once  was  Dorothy  absent 
from  his  mind.  First  it  was  in  a  kind  of  frenzied 
anguish,  and  then  in  an  almost  mad  despair,  that 
he  found  himself  being  carried  farther  and  far 
ther  from  the  studio  in  the  Russian  Exchange 
Building. 

At  times  his  fears  became  positive  terror. 
Dorothy  lying  alone  there  in  the  studio,  thirty 
stories  from  assistance,  was  dying  perhaps, 
perhaps  even  now  was  dead.  Then,  in  another 
swirl  of  fear,  Seebar  thought  of  Bornheim.  If 
the  man  should  recover  his  nerve,  if  he  should 
return  to  the  room — he  fought  the  thought, 
flung  it  from  him  as  if  it  were  one  that 
would  damn  his  soul  eternally.  Bornheim 
would  not  dare,  would  not  dare,  would  not  dare 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        309 

— he  kept  repeating  to  himself.  Like  a  child 
saying  its  lesson  over  and  over  by  rote,  he 
reiterated  the  phrase  till  it  became  blurred  and 
meaningless. 

If  he  could  but  escape  from  this  persistent 
throng  of  madmen ! 

Then  all  at  once  the  crowd  came  to  a  halt  at 
an  intersection  of  streets,  leaving  Seebar  wedged 
between  sidewalks,  with  the  way  open  to  his 
sight  in  four  directions.  In  front,  several  blocks 
away,  the  white  walls  of  the  great  government 
printing  building  loomed  up,  barring  the  way  like 
an  enormous  citadel.  To  the  left,  to  the  right, 
to  rear,  the  heads  extended,  seemingly  unending, 
beyond  vision. 

What  did  it  all  mean?  Was  it  indeed  the 
mighty  revolution  that  the  man,  shouting  in  See- 
bar's  ear,  had  declared  it  to  be?  If  so,  where 
were  the  leaders,  and  what  was  the  present 
purpose  of  this  enormous  concourse? 

Even  in  his  bewilderment,  however,  Seebar 
had  thought  for  wonder  at  the  apparent  order- 


310        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

liness  of  the  multitude.  Yet  when  he  put  a  ques 
tion  to  the  men  around  him,  it  was  received  in 
stolid  silence  or  with  shakes  of  the  head,  indicat 
ing  either  impatience  or  ignorance.  Did  they 
really  know  what  they  were  there  for? 

Suddenly  a  shout  arose  in  front  of  the  great 
white  building — a  shout  that  was  taken  up  and 
borne  back.  Out  through  a  score  of  windows 
of  the  government  printing  building  shot  white 
bundles,  scattering  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd — 
and  resolving  themselves  into  a  shower  of  news 
papers.  As  the  sheets  whirled,  a  thousand  hands 
reached  for  them,  and  in  an  instant  the  air 
grew  thick  with  the  fragments. 

Seebar  understood  now.  The  people  were 
wrecking  the  government  printing  offices.  They 
were  weary  of  the  half-truths  and  fabrications 
that  daily  rilled  the  columns  of  the  press. 

But  Seebar's  eye  had  caught  that  which  made 
hope  leap  high  in  his  breast.  The  wrecking  of 
a  government  printing  plant  at  once  took  on  but 
slight  significance.  He  no  longer  was  a  helpless 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        311 

atom,  big  only  in  despair  and  anguish,  im 
prisoned  by  a  countless  horde  of  other  hostile 
atoms.  He  was  a  man  who  saw  a  chance  to  es 
cape  from  what  to  him  was  a  meaningless  chaos. 

He  began  to  work  his  way  toward  the  left, 
for  in  that  direction  there  was  a  space,  scarcely 
a  foot  wide,  that  broke  the  solid  wall  of  build 
ings,  and  beyond  this  space  Seebar  remembered 
there  ran  a  court — thence  a  short  subway  beneath 
the  streets.  And  farther  beyond  that  he  hoped 
for  unobstructed  passage  back  to  the  studio. 

Slowly  he  began  to  force  his  way  through  the 
mass.  Now  cheer  after  cheer  was  ringing  out; 
all  eyes  were  turned  upward,  and  somehow 
drawn  to  follow  the  general  gaze,  in  spite  of  his 
anxiety  to  get  away  and  return  to  Dorothy,  See- 
bar  beheld  the  old  national  flag  of  Stars  and 
Stripes,  suppressed  this  year  back,  flying  in  its 
accustomed  place  on  the  dome  of  the  white 
building.  The  red  flag  was  gone. 

The  cheers  were  short-lived.  They  had  sud 
denly  turned  to  a  howl  of  indignation.  Seebar 


312         The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

felt  the  great  mass  quiver  and  then  there  was  a 
brief  attempt  at  a  forward  movement,  followed 
by  a  recession,  as  those  toward  the  front  of 
the  crowd  began  to  surge  back.  He  did  not  look 
to  see  what  it  was  all  about.  His  private  affairs 
that  night  were  more  vital  than  the  welfare  of  the 
whole  nation.  He  no  longer  felt  himself  a  part  of 
the  people  of  this  city.  That  he  had  been  a  leader 
seemed  as  far  away  and  dim  as  a  troubled  dream. 
He  had  nothing  to  do  with  aught  of  this  rabble, 
either  Individualist  or  Socialist.  To  get  away 
from  it,  to  find  his  way  back  to  the  studio,  was 
his  sole  thought. 

He  had  reached  the  curbstone,  had  worked  his 
way  across  the  sidewalk,  and  was  slipping  into 
the  gap  in  the  wall  when  the  thing  happened — 
happened  with  all  the  suddenness  and  all  the  hor 
ror  of  the  deed  in  the  New  Auditorium. 

What  it  was  that  caused  Seebar  to  turn  and 
look  up  just  as  he  was  about  to  plunge  into  the 
narrow  gap  between  the  buildings  he  never  knew. 
Across  the  street  at  an  open  window,  four  stories 


What  Befell  in  the  Studio        313 

above  the  pavement,  stood  a  man,  balancing  a 
ponderous  weight  over  his  head.  The  motion 
and  attitude  were  much  like  that  of  a  man 
lifting  a  heavy  tray.  Suddenly,  as  Seebar 
watched,  he  released  his  left  hand,  balancing  the 
heavy  weight  for  an  instant  on  his  right,  and 
then  with  the  movement  of  an  athlete  putting  the 
shot,  hurled  the  mass  down  and  out  upon  the 
heads  of  the  crowd. 

The  flash,  the  roar,  the  jar,  seemed  simul 
taneous. 

Seebar  felt  himself  lifted  off  his  feet  and 
thrown  violently.  He  seemed  to  be  a  long  time 
coming  to  earth.  Then  he  felt  a  sudden  shock, 
as  if  something  had  leaped  up  and  struck  him. 
Presently  he  realized  that  he  was  lying  on  his 
side,  on  the  ground.  As  he  strove  to  sit  up 
another  roar  and  earth-trembling  followed. 

A  silence  of  a  moment's  duration  was  broken 
by  a  crying  out  of  wild,  terrified  voices. 

Seebar  did  not  even  look  to  learn  more.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet  and  ran.  Through  the 


314        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

length  of  the  gap,  across  the  courtyard,  and 
then  down  into  the  subway  for  pedestrians  he 
plunged,  where  the  quiet,  after  the  horrid  roar 
above,  was  almost  bewildering. 

In  another  ten  minutes  he  found  himself  again 
in  the  streets,  racing  hatless  toward  the  building 
where  he  had  left  Dorothy. 

Streams  of  people  still  were  swirling  in  the 
direction  from  which  he  was  fleeing.  Only  the 
streams  were  much  thinner — no  longer  torrent- 
like  and  irresistible. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  NEW  DAY 

'T^O  Seebar  that  long  climb  up  thirty  flights  of 
stairs  ever  afterward  seemed  a  nightmare. 
His  anxiety  for  Dorothy's  safety  had  carried 
him  through  the  streets  as  rapidly  as  lung  power 
and  impeding  obstacles  would  permit.  The  last 
square  he  had  covered  at  top  speed.  He  was  badly 
winded  when  he  began  his  climb  up  the  stairs, 
and  yet  with  every  step  that  he  took,  lessening 
the  distance  between  him  and  Dorothy,  he  strove 
to  go  still  faster. 

Had  she  recovered  from  her  swoon?  He  up 
braided  himself  that  he  had  deserted  her  to  go 
in  search  of  assistance.  What  if  for  want  of  a 
little  water  dashed  in  the  face,  a  bit  more  air, 
or  some  such  simple  restorative,  she  had  died 
alone  while  he  was  off  on  his  bootless  errand? 
Of  Bornheim  he  would  no  longer  allow  himself 

to  think. 

315 


316        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

Breathless  and  dizzy,  his  heart  pounding,  See- 
bar  finally  staggered  into  the  little  studio.  Then 
the  sudden  reaction  that  came  to  him  rendered 
him  more  weak  and  unstrung  than  had  even  his 
haste  and  anxiety. 

Dorothy  was  sitting  up,  her  face  in  her  hands, 
as  if  to  shut  out  something  from  sight. 

Seebar  watched  her  for  a  moment.  It  came  to 
him  as  he  sank  trembling  into  a  chair,  that  in  just 
such  manner  he  had  watched  her  in  the  springtime 
in  the  half-darkened  library  the  day  of  the  sacking 
of  the  old  mansion  on  the  Sheridan  Drive. 

But  it  was  with  a  different  feeling  that  he 
watched  now.  Then  he  had  felt  himself  to  be 
an  intruder.  Here  he  could  boldly  and  rightfully 
assume  the  role  of  protector. 

She  must  have  heard  him,  for  she  was  looking 
up  at  him  now,  as  he  sat  quivering  with  the 
violence  of  his  breathing. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  mingled  surprise  and  joy, 
and  stretched  forth  her  arms.  "  Please,  please, 
don't  leave  me,"  she  said. 


A  New  Day  317 

In  an  instant  Seebar  was  on  his  knees  at  her 
side,  and  her  arms  were  about  his  neck  with  her 
head  resting  on  his  shoulder. 

Presently  she  looked  up.  "  I  have  been  so 
frightened,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so 
very  glad  you  have  come  back ! "  Then  with  a 
turn  in  the  thought  she  continued :  "  I  always 
wanted  you  to  come  back.  I  always  had  faith  in 
you;  I  always  believed  in  you,  even  when  I  acted 
as  if  I  didn't.  I  am  sure  now  that  you  were 
sincere  in  your  beliefs.  Forgive  me  for  ever  show 
ing  doubt." 

For  answer,  Seebar  pressed  his  lips  first  to  her 
forehead,  then  to  her  lips.  In  that  moment  all  the 
bitterness  and  pain  of  the  many  weary  months 
past  vanished. 

"  You  warned  me  of  Bornheim  in  the  Lion's 
House.  I  was  so  puzzled  at  the  time,  because 
you  sent  him  to  meet  me  and  father  when  we 
first  came  to  the  Pelion." 

Seebar  looked  perplexed.  "  I  don't  under 
stand,"  he  said.  "  I  never  sent  Bornheim  to  look 


3i 8        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

after  you.  That  day  you  were  evict — left  your 
home,  I  telegraphed  my  friend  Lessing  to  meet 
you " 

"  It  was  Bornheim  who  met  us.  He  said  you 
had  sent  him.  That  is  why  we  were  so  ready — 
father  and  I — to  make  friends  with  him,  because 
we  thought  him  a  friend  of  yours.  Don't  you 
see,  Alfred,  how  we  always  trusted  in  you?  " 

"  What  an  unconscionable  liar "  Seebar  be 
gan.  Then  he  broke  off  abruptly.  "  Have  you 
seen  anything  more  of  Bornheim?" 

Dorothy  shook  her  head.  Seebar  rose  and 
stepped  to  the  window  and  looked  out  upon  the 
platform,  where  he  had  struggled  for  life  against 
his  adversary's  terror. 

It  was  bare. 

Seebar  drew  in  a  deep  breath.  "  I'm  glad  he's 
safe,"  he  thought. 

There  was  a  movement  behind  him,  and  Doro 
thy  was  at  his  side. 

"  He  has  escaped  ? "  she  asked  almost  in  a 
whisper. 


A  New  Day  319 

"  Yes,"  responded  Seebar  in  the  same  low  tone 
in  which  she  had  spoken. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  answered,  "  we'll  feel  better 
so." 

But  Bornheim  had  not  escaped,  as  Seebar 
learned  many  hours  later.  A  shapeless  mass,  once 
a  human  being,  was  found,  in  the  morning,  on 
the  hard  concrete  courtyard,  directly  beneath  the 
platform. 

Totally  ignorant  of  this,  however,  at  the  time, 
silently  they  looked  out  upon  the  city.  How 
could  they  know  what  dreadful  things  were 
going  on  there  that  night?  The  tumult  seemed 
to  have  died  away.  The  myriad  lights  cast  their 
glare  heavenward  as  they  had  always  done. 

"What  is  that?"  Dorothy  suddenly  asked, 
clutching  Seebar's  arm  like  a  frightened  child. 

From  a  distance  there  had  been  borne  to  their 
ears  a  strange  roar,  followed  by  a  slight  jar  of 
the  building.  Then  a  second  boom  followed,  and 
again  the  floor  shook  slightly  beneath  them,  as 
if  an  earthquake  were  rumbling  by. 


320        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

And  then  a  strange  thing  happened — strange 
to  the  inhabitants  of  that  twentieth  century  city, 
who  had  not  known  the  like  before;  as  though  a 
wave  of  darkness  had  passed  over  the  city  all 
the  lights  went  out. 

The  lights  in  the  room  also  went  out  with 
them,  and  Dorothy  crept  still  closer  to  Seebar. 
The  primitive  fear  of  darkness,  of  the  strange 
and  the  unknown,  was  upon  them. 

Away  to  the  south  the  sky  was  suddenly  shot 
with  red  light.  To  right  and  left  of  this  pres 
ently  other  red  lights  began  to  flicker  and  dance 
across  the  darkness. 

"  They  are  firing  the  city,"  said  Seebar. 

Fascinated,  they  watched  the  flames. 

Then  the  strange  booming  sounds  recom 
menced. 

"We  must  get  to  your  father,"  Seebar  ex 
claimed  suddenly. 

"Oh,  Alfred,  how  could  I  forget  him!  We 
must  get  to  him  at  once.  Come !  Come !  " 

And  hand  in  hand  they  threaded  their  way  in 


A  New  Day  321 

the  dark  through  the  outer  room  of  the  studio, 
to  the  stairs  in  the  hall,  and  descended  to  the 
street. 

Outside  it  was  as  twilight.  The  fog  had  long 
since  lifted.  The  air  was  filled  with  noises.  The 
whole  city  hummed  with  a  mysterious,  unaccount 
able  activity,  that  was  as  a  portent  of  further 
evil  and  disaster.  Few  persons  were  in  the  im 
mediate  neighborhood,  but  such  as  they  saw  were 
hastening  in  the  direction  of  the  lights  leaping 
up  against  the  sky. 

Silently  Dorothy  and  Seebar  hurried  on. 
Presently  they  had  turned  to  the  left,  and  ahead 
they  could  see  an  endless  throng  passing.  Still 
without  exchange  of  speech,  they  hastened,  and 
a  few  moments  more  brought  them  to  the  Pelion. 
Some  feeble  lights,  generated  by  a  small  motor 
on  the  premises,  rescued  the  place  from  absolute 
darkness. 

Below  it  was  quiet  enough,  but  in  the  upper 
corridors  women  were  rushing  about,  sobbing 
hysterically,  children  were  crying,  and  men  were 


322        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

gathered  in  groups  at  the  windows,  and  talking  in 
eager,  excited  tones. 

As  Seebar  and  Dorothy  turned  into  the  Mark- 
ham  apartment  the  voice  of  the  ex-steel  magnate 
greeted  them. 

"  Is  that  you,  Dorothy  ?  I  am  glad  you  are 
back.  I  feel  far  from  well,  and  the  noises  out 
side  are  very  upsetting.  Whom  have  you  with 
you?" 

"  Alfred,  father." 

There  were  no  lights  in  the  room  and  they 
stood  together  by  the  bedside  in  the  darkness. 
Dimly  against  the  white  of  the  pillow,  and  be 
neath  the  counterpane,  they  could  make  out  the 
form  of  Mr.  Markham.  A  heavy  roar,  not  three 
blocks  distant,  sounded  at  that  moment,  and  a 
burst  of  light  flashed  for  an  instant.  The  empty 
eye-sockets,  so  hideous,  of  the  man  lying  there, 
were  revealed  under  the  raised  lids. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  went  on  the 
voice  from  the  bed.  "  Is  it  a  revolt  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  a  revolution,"  answered  Seebar 


A  New  Day  323 

gloomily,  "  whether  of  Socialists  or  anarchists  I 
cannot  tell,  though  the  latter,  I  know,  started  the 
trouble." 

Aye,  it  was  a  revolution — one  of  the  most  ter 
rible  in  the  history  of  the  world.  What,  after  all, 
were  the  horrors  and  atrocities  of  the  uprising  of 
1793?  France  was  still  medieval.  The  vast  bulk 
of  her  population  were  as  ignorant  and  bigoted  as 
though  they  lived  in  the  Dark  Ages.  The  atroci 
ties  of  the  religious  wars  following  the  Protestant 
Reformation,  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
even  the  rising  of  the  Commune  in  1871 — what 
were  these?  The  madness  of  ignorance  and 
fanaticism. 

Who  could  fancy,  with  the  death  penalty 
abolished,  men  surrounded  with  all  the  luxuries 
the  greatest  material  civilization  the  world 
had  ever  seen,  with  the  masses  educated,  enlight 
ened,  that  bombs  could  be  thrown  into  crowds  of 
helpless  human  beings,  among  women  and  chil 
dren?  Who  could  have  believed  that  Individual 
ists  as  well  as  Socialists,  Socialists  as  well  as 


324        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

anarchists,  could  have  taken  part  in  the  fury,  the 
butcheries,  the  rapine,  that  followed  hard  upon 
the  first  outbreaks  of  that  terrible  third  of  No 
vember,  1953? 

And  yet  that  night  men  were  as  demons. 
Every  man's  hand  was  raised  against  his  fellow. 
Women  were  outraged  and  murdered,  children 
despatched  with  fiendish  ingenuity.  It  was  as  if 
the  city  had  been  taken  by  Huns  of  the  fifth 
century. 

Once,  underneath  the  window  of  the  room  in 
which  Mr.  Markham  lay,  there  was  a  loud  out 
cry,  and  Seebar  could  discern  three  men  strug 
gling  there  in  the  dim  light.  One  fell  with  a  loud 
groan,  and  then  the  remaining  two  attacked  each 
other  like  madmen. 

Seebar  turned  away.  His  faculties  were 
awhirl.  What  did  it  all  mean?  What  sort  of  a 
Frankenstein  was  this  Socialism  to  have  thus 
created  so  terrible  a  monster  ? 

He  heard  Mr.  Markham's  voice  calling  to  him 
as  out  of  a  dream.  "  Mr.  Seebar,  I  don't  quite 


A  New  Day  325 

understand,  but  I  find  you  with  my  daughter.  It 
is  of  her  own  free  will,  I  trust?" 

"  Oh,  father,"  interposed  Dorothy.  "  He  more 
than  saved  my  life  to-night.  We  have  been  so 
very  unjust  to  Alfred,  and  I  love  him  so — I  do 
indeed." 

And  she  was  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside,  her 
fingers  resting  lightly  on  her  father's  face. 

"  Mr.  Markham,"  said  Seebar,  "  I  find  you 
were  right.  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  thought 
Socialism  could  do  the  impossible.  I  believed  it 
would  revolutionize  the  world  spiritually  as  well 
as  materially.  I  believe  now  that  all  good  in 
government  and  economics,  as  in  all  other  things 
in  life,  must  come  from  within  ourselves.  I  have 
no  remorse  for  the  part  I  have  taken  in  the  move 
ment  which  led  to  the  Great  Change — for  my  in 
tentions  were  serious  and  honest — I  have  only 
regret.  Henceforth  I  shall  devote  myself  to  re 
claiming  this  country  from  the  curse  of  Socialism, 
to  bringing  it  back  to  its  former  constitutional 
government." 


326        The  Mirage  of  the  Many 

The  old  man's  hand  reached  out  till  he  had 
found  Seebar's,  and  placing  it  firmly  on  his  daugh 
ter's  hand,  held  it  there. 

A  faint  light  began  to  show  through  the  east 
window. 

"  See,"  said  Dorothy  softly,  "  it  is  morning." 


THE   END 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  JOSEPH  VANCE 

A  touching  story,  yet  full  of  humor,  of  life-long  love  and 
heroic  sacrifice.  While  the  scene  is  mostly  in  and  near  the 
London  of  the  fifties,  there  are  some  telling  glimpses  of 
Italy,  where  the  author  lives  much  of  the  time  ($1.75). 

"The  book  of  the  last  decade;  the  best  thing  in  fiction  since  Mr. 
Meredith  and  Mr.  Hard);;  must  take  its  place  as  the  first  great  English 
novel  that  has  appeared  in  the  twentieth  century." — LEWIS  MELVILLE  in 
New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"  If  the  reader  likes  both  '  David  Copperfield '  and  '  Peter  Ibbetson,' 
he  can  find  the  two  books  in  this  one." — The  Independent, 

WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  AL1CE-FOR-SHORT 

This  might  paradoxically  be  called  a  genial  ghost-and- 
murder  story,  yet  humor  and  humanity  again  dominate,  and 
the  most  striking  element  is  the  touching  love  story  of  an 
unsuccessful  man.  The  reappearance  in  Nineteenth  Century 
London  of  the  long-buried  past,  and  a  remarkable  case  of 
suspended  memory,  give  the  dramatic  background  ($1.75). 

"  Really  worth  reading  and  praising  .  .  .  will  be  hailed  as  a  master 
piece.  If  any  writer  of  the  present  era  is  read  a  half  century  hence, 
a  quarter  century,  or  even  a  decade,  that  writer  is  William  De 
Morgan."— -Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  the  Victorian  age  itself  that  speaks  in  those  rich,  interesting, 
over-crowded  books.  .  .  .  Will  be  remembered  as  Dickens'  novels  are 
remembered." — Springfield  Republican. 

WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  SOMEHOW  GOOD 

The  purpose  and  feeling  of  this  novel  are  intense,  yet  it  is 
all  mellowed  by  humor,  and  it  contains  perhaps  the  author's 
freshest  and  most  sympathetic  story  of  young  love.  Through 
out  its  pages  the  "  God  be  praised  evil  has  turned  to  good  " 
of  the  old  Major  rings  like  a  trumpet  call  of  hope.  This 
story  of  to-day  tells  of  a  triumph  of  courage  and  devotion 

($1-75). 

"  A  book  as  sound,  as  sweet,  as  wholesome,  as  wise,  as  any  in  the 
range  of  fiction." — The  Nation. 

"  Our  older  novelists  (Dickens  and  Thackeray)  will  have  to  look  to 
their  laurels,  for  the  new  one  is  fast  proving  himself  their  equal.  A 
higher  quality  of  enjoyment  than  is  derivable  from  the  work  of  any 
other  novelist  now  living  and  active  in  either  England  or  America." — 
The  Dial. 

HENRY     HOLT    AND     COMPANY 

34  WEST  33D  STREET  (vii' xo)  NEW  YORK 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  IT  NEVER  CAN  HAPPEN  AGAIN 

This  novel  turns  on  a  strange  marital  complication,  and  is 
notable  for  two  remarkable  women  characters,  the  pathetic 
girl  Lizarann  and  the  beautiful  Judith  Arkroyd,  with  her 
stage  ambitions.  Lizarann's  father,  Blind  Jim,  is  very  ap- 
pealingly  drawn,  and  shows  rare  courage  and  devotion  despite 
cruel  handicaps.  There  are  strong  dramatic  episodes,  and 
the  author's  inevitable  humor  and  optimism  ($1.75). 

"  De  Morgan  at  his  very  best,  and  how  much  better  his  best  is 
than  the  work  of  any  novelist  of  the  past  thirty  years." — Independent. 

"  There  has  been  nothing  at  all  like  it  in  our  day.  The  best  of 
our  contemporary  novelists  ...  do  not  so  come  home  to  our  business 
and  our  bosoms  .  .  .  his  method  ...  is  very  different  in  most 
important  respects  from  that  of  Dickens.  He  is  far  less  the  showman, 
the  dashing  prestidigitator  .  .  .  more  like  Thackeray  .  .  .  precisely 
what  the  most  '  modern  '  novelists  are  striving  for — for  the  most  part 
in  vain  .  .  .  most  enchanting  .  .  .  infinitely  lovable  and  pathetic." — 
The  Nation. 

"  Another  long  delightful  voyage  with  the  best  English  company  .  .  . 
from  Dukes  to  blind  beggars  .  .  .  you  could  make  out  a  very  good 
case  for  handsome  Judith  Arkroyd  as  an  up-to-date  Ethel  Newcome 
.  .  .  the  stuff  that  tears  in  hardened  and  careless  hearts  are  made 
of  ...  singularly  perceiving,  mellow,  wise,  charitable,  humorous 
...  a  plot  as  well  denned  as  if  it  were  a  French  farce." — The  Times 
Saturday  Review. 

"  The  characters  of  Blind  Jim  and  Lizarann  are  wonderful — worthy 
of  Dickens  at  his  best." — Professor  WILLIAM  LYON  PHELBS,  of  Yale, 
author  of  "  Essays  on  Modern  Novelists." 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  AN  AFFAIR  OF  DISHONOR 

A  dramatic  story  of  England  in  the  time  of  the  Restoration. 
It  commences  with  a  fatal  duel,  and  shows  a  new  phase  of  its 
remarkable  author.  The  movement  is  fairly  rapid,  and  the 
narrative  absorbing,  with  occasional  glints  of  humor  ($1.75). 


***  A  thirty-two  page  illustrated  leaflet  about  Mr.   De  Morgan,  with 
complete  reviews  of  his  first  four  books,  sent  on  request. 

COM  PANY 

NEW  YORK 


LEADING   AMERICANS 

Edited  by  W.  P.  TRENT.    Large  12010.    With  portraits. 
Each  $1.75,  by  mail  $1.90. 

LEADING  AMERICAN  SOLDIERS 

By  R.  M.  JOHNSTON,  Lecturer  in  Harvard  University,  Au 
thor  of  ""Napoleon,"  etc. 

Washington,  Greene,  Taylor,  Scott,  Andrew  Jackson,  Grant, 
Sherman,  Sheridan,  McClellan,  Meade,  Lee,  "  Stonewall  " 
Jackson,  Joseph  E.  Johnston. 

"  Very  interesting  .  .  .  much  sound  originality  of  treatment,  and 
the  style  is  very  clear." — Springfield  Republican. 

LEADING  AMERICAN  NOVELISTS 

By  Professor  JOHN  ERSKINE  of  Columbia. 

Charles  Brockden  Brown,  Cooper,  Simms,  Hawthorne,  Mrs. 
Stowe,  and  Bret  Harte. 

"  He  makes  his  study  of  these  novelists  all  the  more  striking  because 
of  their  contrasts  of  style  and  their  varied  purpose.  .  .  .  Cooper  .  .  . 
and  .  .  .  Hawthorne  ...  of  both  he  gives  us  an  exceedingly  graphic 
picture,  showing  the  men  both  through  their  life  and  their  works.  He 
is  especially  apt  at  a  vivid  characterization  of  them  as  they  appeared 
in  the  eyes  of  their  contemporaries  .  .  .  well  worth  any  amount  of 
time  we  may  care  to  spend  upon  them." — Boston  Transcript. 

LEADING  AMERICAN  ESSAYISTS 

By  WILLIAM  MORTON  PAYNE,  Associate  Editor  of  The  Dial. 
A    General    Introduction    dealing    with    essay    writing    in 
America,  and  biographies  of  Irving,  Emerson,  Thoreau,  and 
George  William  Curtis. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  know  only  the  name  of  the  author  of  this  work 
to  be  assured  of  its  literary  excellence." — Literary  Digest. 

LEADING  AMERICAN  MEN  OF  SCIENCE 

Edited  by  President  DAVID  STARR  JORDAN. 
COUNT  RUMFORD,  by  Edwin  E.  Slosson;  ALEXANDER  WILSON  and 
AUDUBON,  by  Witmer  Stone;  SILLIMAN,  by  Daniel  Coit  Oilman;  JOSEPH 
HENRY,  by  Simon  Newcomb;  Louis  AGASSIZ,  by  Charles  Frederick 
Holder;  JEFFRIES  WYMAN,  by  Burt  C.  Wilder;  ASA  GRAY,  by  John  M. 
Coulter;  JAMES  DWIGHT  DANA,  by  William  North  Rice;  SPENCER 
FULLERTON  BAIRD,  by  Holder;  MARSH,  by  Geo.  Bird  Grinnell;  EDWARD 
DRINKER  COPE,  by  Marcus  Benjamin;  JOSIAH  WILLARD  GIBBS,  by  Edwin 
E.  Slosson;  SIMON  NEWCOMB,  by  Marcus  Benjamin;  GEORGE  BROWN 
GOODE,  by  David  Starr  Jordan;  HENRY  AUGUSTUS  ROWLAND,  by  Ira 
Remsen;  WILLIAM  KEITH  BROOKS,  by  E.  A.  Andrews. 

OTHER  VOLUMES  contracted  for,  covering  LAWYERS,  POETS, 
STATESMEN,  EDITORS,  EXPLORERS,  etc.  Leaflet  on  application. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  (vii  -to)  NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


PS3545,       W1744M 


247805    3 


